MEMOIR 
WIELAND  OR  THE  TRANSFORMATION 

BEING  VOLUME  I. 
OF 

CHARLES  BROCKDRN  BROWN'S  NOVELS 


WI  ELAND 


OR 


THH  TRANSFORMATION 


BY 


CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN 


'  OPfFM^CONSVLTORES  r 


PHILADELPHIA 


Damft 


1887 


^PLACING 


(Copies 


MEMOIR 


OF 


CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN. 


GENIUS  and  knowledge  command  respect;  but  superior 
genius  and  profound  knowledge,  combined  with  exalted 
moral  purity,  cannot  fail  to  excite  unmingled  admiration. 
The  reputation  of  an  author  in  whom  these  qualities  are 
united  may  be  circumscribed  during  life;  but  its  rise  and 
extension  after  death  prove  that  his  claims  to  distinction 
are  well  founded.  It  is  no  less  the  duty  than  the  pleasure 
of  friendship  to  fortify  and  sustain  these  claims.  The  im 
partiality  of  criticism  cannot  but  confirm  the  anticipations 
of  affection. 

CHAHLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN  was  the  highly-gifted  de 
scendant  of  ancestors  originally  English,  who  came  over  to 
this  country  with  the  wise  and  benevolent  Penn,  and  landed 
from  the  same  ship  on  the  banks  of  the  Delaware.  Their 
principles,  moral,  religious,  and  political,  coincided  with 
those  of  their  pious  and  illustrious  leader. 

He  derived  the  additional  name  of  Brockden  from  his 
uncle  Charles  Brockden,  so  respectfully  mentioned  by  Franklin 
in  his  life,  who,  to  avoid  the  vengeance  of  conspirators, 
whose  secret  conversations  he  had  accidentally  overheard,  fled 
to  America  and  settled  in  Pennsylvania,  where  his  industry 
and  abilities  finally  raised  him  to  an  important  office,  which 
he  filled  with  distinguished  reputation. 

His  parents  were  pious  and  respectable  members  of  the 
Society  of  Friends,  and  may  be  presumed  to  have  instilled 

3 


M85S019 


4  MEMOIR    OF 

into  their  beloved  offspring  all  that  simplicity  of  manners 
and  benevolence  of  sentiment  which  so  honourably  character 
ize  the  religious  society  to  which  they  belonged. 

He  was  born  in  the  city  of  Philadelphia,  on  the  17th  day 
of  January,  1771.  He  had  three  brothers  older  than  him 
self,  to  whom,  as  well  as  to  every  other  member  of  his 
family,  he  was  from  his  earliest  years  an  object  of  deep 
interest  and  fond  affection. 

Of  those  incidents  and  circumstances  which  in  childhood 
either  control  the  development  or  indicate  the  character 
of  the  moral  and  intellectual  powers  of  men  distinguished 
for  their  talents,  and  which  are  not  only  interesting  in 
themselves,  but  valuable  as  contributions  to  the  great  cause 
of  education,  it  is  always  desirable  to  hear;  but,  when  he 
whose  life  they  would  illustrate  modestly  leaves  them  un 
noticed,  the  biographer  can  only  have  recourse  to  conjecture 
or  to  the  recollections  of  friends.  From  the  facts  which 
they  furnish  he  may  deduce  and  infer,  but  he  cannot  esta 
blish  with  certainty.  His  narrative  of  these  may  therefore  be 
brief  without  subjecting  him  to  censure. 

Of  the  first  ten  years  of  Mr.  Brown's  life  the  memorials 
are  few  but  sufficient.  His  constitution  was  unusually 
delicate  and  frail  and  his  frame  slender.  Life  opened  upon 
him  with  a  wan  and  sickly  aspect,  and  disclosed  but  doubtful 
prospects  of  a  healthy  manhood.  The  weakness  of  his  body 
was,  however,  his  only  weakness:  his  mind  was  not  ener 
vated.  There  all  was  activity  and  strength. 

Debility  of  body  does  not  necessarily  lead  to  vigour  of  mind. 
The  reverse  of  this  may  perhaps  be  maintained.  But  he 
whom  nature  had  rendered  incapable  of  much  corporeal 
exertion  would  almost  necessarily  be  thrown  upon  his  in 
tellectual  resources  for  enjoyment. 

This  was  the  case  with  the  lamented  subject  of  this 
memoir.  From  his  earliest  years  he  was  devoted  to  books 
and  reflection.  Maps,  books,  and  prints  were  to  him  even 
in  childhood  objects  irresistibly  attractive.  The  study  and 
examination  of  these  were  the  constant  and  invariable  occu- 


CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN.  5 

pations  of  his  juvenile  years.  His  knowledge  of  geography 
and  architecture  in  his  tenth  year  was  a  subject  of  pride  and 
exultation  to  his  friends  and  of  surprise  to  strangers. 

He  entered  the  classical  school  of  Robert  Proud,  the  well- 
known  author  of  the  "History  of  Pennsylvania,"  in  his 
eleventh  year,  and  left  it  before  he  had  completed  his 
sixteenth.  His  rapid  advancement  and  incessant  diligence 
while  under  the  direction  of  this  gentleman  received,  as 
they  merited,  his  warmest  commendations.  His  studies 
were,  however,  by  no  means  confined  to  the  ancient  classics : 
his  application  was  unremitting  to  the  best  English  models. 

Five  years  of  ardent  and  intellectual  exercise  in  classical 
studies !  What  a  mass  of  intellectual  treasures  may  not  be 
collected  during  such  a  period !  What  rich  materials  for 
future  use  may  it  not  afford!  Fortunate  is  the  youth  of 
whom  it  may  be  said  that,  for  five  years,  he  persevered  with 
ardour  and  enthusiasm  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  and  the 
cultivation  of  his  powers.  His  soul  becomes  imbued  with 
the  love  of  letters  and  of  science,  and  he  is  already  on  the 
highroad  to  distinction  and  honour.  He  can  hardly  become 
the  slave  of  low  and  grovelling  vices. 

Mr.  Brown's  application  during  this  period  was  indeed  so 
intense  as  seriously  to  endanger  his  health;  and,  therefore, 
by  the  advice  of  his  preceptor,  he  occasionally  relaxed  from 
the  severities  of  study  and  made  excursions  into  the  country. 
These  journeys  he  performed  on  foot;  and,  on  account  of 
the  pleasure  and  advantage  which  he  derived  from  them,  he 
ever  after  continued  the  practice. 

Accustomed  as  he  had  been  to  the  confined  atmosphere, 
the  dusky  streets,  and  unwholesome  exhalations  of  a  city, 
the  extended  prospects,  the  varied  hues,  the  delicious  fra 
grance,  and  the  balmy  and  elastic  air  of  the  country  were 
unspeakably  grateful  and  refreshing.  Solitary  wandering 
leads  to  thoughtful  musing,  and  this  to  romantic  enthusiasm. 
It  would  not  be  difficult  to  predict  the  effects  which  such  a 
practice  would  have  upon  an  imagination  ever  active,  en 
riched  and  embellished  with  elegant  literature  and  various 


6  MEMOIR   OF 

knowledge.  Habits  of  reverie  and  abstraction  would  be 
insensibly  contracted.  Present  objects  would  gradually  fade 
from  the  view,  and  the  imagination  revel,  free  and  unfettered, 
amid  its  own  creations. 

He  had  been  diligent  in  composition  before  he  was  six 
teen  ;  but  after  he  left  school  he  became  indefatigable.  He 
wrote  a  variety  of  essays,  both  in  prose  and  verse,  most  of 
which  imply  considerable  powers  and  uncommon  acquisitions 
in  a  youth  of  his  age.  About  this  time,  too,  he  invented  a 
system  of  short-hand,  and  successfully  studied  French,  aided 
only  by  books. 

But  it  became  necessary  that  his  efforts  should  be  con 
centrated  upon  a  single  science.  A  profession  must  be 
adopted.  The  fictions  of  the  imagination  and  the  enthusiasm 
of  sentiment  must  give  place  to  the  sober  realities  of  busi 
ness.  With  the  approbation  of  his  family,  he  made  choice 
of  the  law,  and  became  a  student  in  the  office  of  Alexander 
Wilcox,  Esq.,  a  distinguished  member  of  the  Philadelphia 
Bar. 

His  habits  of  labour  and  application,  no  less  than  his  keen 
discrimination  and  sound  judgment,  were  admirably  fitted 
for  his  new  pursuit,  and  he  entered  upon  it  with  his  usual 
ardour  and  diligence.  Pie  became  a  member  of  a  law  society, 
over  whose  deliberations  he  presided  with  credit  and  ability. 
The  recorded  decisions  which  his  duty  as  president  required 
him  to  make  evince  unusual  research  and  solidity  of  judg 
ment.  But  polite  literature  and  liberal  studies  could  not  be 
relinquished.  Law  he  studied  from  a  principle  of  duty  or 
necessity;  but  literature  had  his  secret  soul.  Though  the 
dry  abstractions  and  bewildering  subtleties  of  law  had  some 
thing  in  them  which  particularly  suited  his  laborious  habits 
and  speculative  ingenuity,  his  literary  propensities  were  irre 
sistible.  He  became,  at  the  same  time,  a  member  of  the 
Belles-Lettres  Club,  whose  principal  object  was  improvement 
in  literature.  In  this  also  he  became  a  leader.  The  various 
addresses  which  he  delivered  before  this  society  are  creditable 
to  his  talents  and  indicative  of  vigour  and  originality  of  thought. 


CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BR  O  WN.  7 

During  the  whole  of  his  novitiate  his  pen  was  in  diligent 
exercise.  He  wrote  various  essays,  some  of  them  of  con 
siderable  merit,  and  maintained  a  long  and  elaborate  corre 
spondence  with  several  of  his  friends.  Not  satisfied  with 
these  labours,  he  kept  a  minute  and  copious  journal,  not 
merely  of  the  incidents  and  occurrences  of  the  day,  but 
of  his  thoughts,  feelings,  and  reflections.  He  did  this  for 
the  double  purpose  of  improvement  in  thinking  and  in 
writing.  Of  excellence  in  style  he  was  always  ambitious, 
and  for  it  he  most  assiduously  laboured. 

Of  the  progress  that  he  made,  or  was  qualified  to  make,  in 
the  science  of  law,  the  decisions  before  alluded  to  afford 
abundant  and  convincing  evidence.  His  qualifications  and 
attainments  were  unquestionably  great  for  so  young  a  man ; 
and  of  moral  purity  and  elevation  of  sentiment  he  was  a  rare 
and  signal  example.  His  early  associates  were  selected  solely 
with  a  view  to  moral  and  intellectual  improvement;  for  to 
sensual  enjoyments  and  vicious  pleasures  he  was  an  utter 
stranger.  Vice  in  every  shape  was  loathsome  and  disgusting 
to  him. 

He  was  now  of  that  age  when  youth  swells  into  manhood, — 
when  the  dispositions,  habits,  and  propensities  of  early  life 
become  fixed  and  permanent,  or,  swayed  by  novel  and  un 
foreseen  circumstances,  assume  new  directions,  or  become 
supplanted  by  others  still  more  powerful.  The  period  came 
when  the  study  was  to  be  succeeded  by  the  practice  of  the 
law.  To  this  he  was  decidedly  averse.  His  resolution  was 
fixed,  and  the  law  was  abandoned.  Neither  argument  nor 
persuasion  could  vanquish  his  resolution.  This  was  not  the 
result  of  whim  or  caprice.  His  passion  for  letters,  the  weak 
ness  of  his  physical  constitution,  and  his  reluctance  to  engage 
in  the  noise  and  bustle  of  professional  business,  were  doubtless 
causes  abundantly  adequate  to  the  production  of  this  effect. 
The  last  of  these  originated  in  that  habit  of  romantic  and 
visionary  speculation  in  which  he  so  much  delighted  to  in 
dulge,  and  of  which  he  gave  a  striking  instance  in  the  essays 
which  he  published  under  the  title  of  the  "  Rhapsodist." 


8  MEMOIR   OF 

In  reference  to  this  event,  he  says  himself,  "As  for  nie,  I 
had  long  ago  discovered  that  nature  had  not  qualified  me  for 
an  actor  on  this  stage.  The  nature  of  my  education  only 
added  to  these  disqualifications."  The  disappointment  of 
his  friends  was  great  indeed  at  this  abandonment  of  the 
only  path  to  fame  and  fortune  which  seemed  to  be  open  to 
him.  They  reasoned,  they  remonstrated;  but  their  labour  was 
vain.  His  reluctance  was  invincible.  Not  even  his  own 
sense  of  duty  could  overcome  it.  His  friends  saw  this,  and 
were  silent.  To  one  so  strongly  attached  to  his  family  and 
friends,  of  whom  he  was  the  pride  and  the  boast,  this  trial 
must  have  been  peculiarly  severe.  The  effect  was  soon 
perceived:  his  spirits  sunk  almost  to  hopelessness,  and  his 
health  became  visibly  impaired. 

The  portion  of  his  life  from  the  close  of  his  legal  studies 
till  the  time  of  his  becoming  professedly  an  author,  in  the 
year  1798,  comprises  a  period  of  about  six  years.  Of  this 
part  of  his  history  the  incidents  are  few  and  may  be  briefly 
told.  His  literary  and  scientific  tastes  were  now  his  only 
resource,  and  they  were  indulged  without  restraint. 

To  dissipate  the  gloom  and  dejection  into  which  his  mind 
had  sunk,  he  left  Philadelphia,  and,  after  traversing  various 
parts  of  the  country,  he  remained  for  a  while  in  the  city  of 
New  York.  There  the  joys  and  consolations  of  friendship 
awaited  him ;  for  his  friend,  Dr.  Elihu  H.  Smith,  was  a  resi 
dent  of  that  city.  By  him  Mr.  Brown  was  received  with  all 
the  cordiality  which  the  most  disinterested  friendship  could 
inspire.  Their  intercourse  had  commenced  in  Philadelphia, 
while  respectively  engaged  in  professional  studies.  This 
visit  was  not  only  productive  of  pleasure,  but  of  friendship, 
to  Mr.  B.  Through  the  kindness  of  his  beloved  friend 
Smith  the  circle  of  his  friends  was  considerably  enlarged, 
and  hope  was  revived  in  his  breast.  He  left  New  York 
gratified  and  strengthened. 

The  impressions  he  received  during  this  visit  induced  a 
speedy  repetition  of  it.  The  second  was  longer  than  the 
first,  and  from  this  time  the  greater  part  of  the  period  before 


CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN.  9 

mentioned  was  spent  by  him  in  New  York.  His  situation 
there  was  happily  adapted  to  gratify  his  best  feelings  and 
promote  his  favourite  pursuits.  Of  his  new  friends  and  asso 
ciates,  many  were  distinguished,  and  all  respectable,  for 
literature  or  science.  With  most  of  these  gentlemen  he  was 
on  terms  of  the  strictest  intimacy  and  most  liberal  intercourse. 
Many  of  them  were  members  of  a  literary  society,  about  that 
time  formed  in  New  York,  under  the  modest  title  of  the 
"  Friendly  Club."  Of  this  society  Mr.  B.  became  a  member, 
and  frequently  mentions,  in  his  journal,  the  pleasure  and 
advantages  he  derived  from  it. 

By  his  friend  Smith  he  was  introduced  to  the  friendship 
of  Mr.  Johnson  and  Mr.  Dunlap,  the  latter  of  whom  has 
since  celebrated  the  talents  and  virtues  of  his  friend  in  an 
extended  biography.  Between  these  gentlemen,  Dr.  Smith, 
and  himself,  an  intimacy  of  the  most  endearing  and  confi 
dential  nature  subsisted  for  several  years,  and  was  terminated 
only  by  death.  He  was  an  inmate  in  the  family  of  Mr.  Dun- 
lap  during  the  greater  part  of  this  time;  but  he  afterwards 
resided  with  his  friends  Johnson  and  Smith.  Mr.  Brown 
was  of  that  temperament  that  required  objects  for  the  exer 
cise  of  the  domestic  affections.  Mere  literary  or  social  inter 
course  was  not  sufficient  for  him.  In  the  family  establish 
ments  just  mentioned,  he  found  ample  exercise  for  the  sensi 
bilities  of  his  affectionate  heart. 

Thus  circumstanced,  his  intellectual  powers  were  strongly 
excited  and  his  moral  propensities  confirmed  and  strength 
ened.  That  he  made  large  additions  to  his  knowledge  may 
fairly  be  inferred  from  his  known  habits  of  labour  and  appli 
cation.  His  reading  was  various  and  extensive,  but  not 
always  profitable.  He  had  at  this  period  of  his  life  a  strong 
tendency  to  skepticism,  which,  in  his  riper  years,  he  rejected. 
This  was  natural,  and  the  explanation  is  easy.  Imperfection 
is  written  upon  every  thing  human.  It  requires  little  saga 
city  to  perceive  defects  in  existing  institutions,  or  to  suggest 
difficulties  and  to  frame  objections  to  any  system  of  morals 
or  religion.  To  a  young,  acute,  and  original  inquirer  these 


IO  MEMOIR   OF 

are  soon  apparent.  To  him,  if  zealous  and  sincere  in  his 
search  after  truth,  nothing  is  more  vehemently  desired  than 
certainty.  He  strains  after  perfection,  and,  finding  the 
system  which  accident,  design,  or  necessity,  first  presents 
to  his  examination  not  to  yield  the  satisfaction  he  seeks, 
he  rejects  it  for  another.  This  is  liable  to  objections  as 
well  as  the  former, —  less  potent,  perhaps,  but  still  objec 
tions.  Another  and  another  succeeds;  but  doubts  and 
difficulties  are  still  unresolved,  and  the  inquirer,  wearied  at 
last  with  the  fruitless  search,  sinks  into  the  indifference  of 
skepticism,  from  which  a  more  enlarged  experience  and 
deeper  inquiries  alone  can  raise  him. 

During  this  period  of  his  life,  the  moral  and  political 
worlds  were  in  a  state  of  the  most  violent  excitation.  The 
deep  foundations  of  society  were  shaken.  The  spirit  of 
fearless  inquiry  was  abroad  upon  the  earth.  Theories  the 
most  extravagant  were  daily  promulgated,  and  the  mad 
ness  of  speculation  knew  no  bounds. 

Towards  the  close  of  these  times  of  such  fearful  excite 
ment,  he  commenced  his  career  as  an  author,  and  his  first 
publication  was  "Alcuin:  a  Dialogue  on  the  Rights  of 
Women."  This  was  written  during  the  autumn  and  winter 
of  the  year  1797.  It  is  an  eloquent  and  ingenious  specula 
tion,  of  which,  though  we  may  praise  the  elegance  of  the 
language,  the  originality  of  the  style,  and  the  subtlety  of 
the  argument,  we  cannot  but  condemn  the  unsoundness  of 
the  doctrine.  Though  published,  it  was  scarcely  known 
to  the  public,  and  the  author  consequently  acquired  from 
it  neither  reputation  nor  profit. 

About  the  same  period  he  wrote  a  small  novel,  in  the  form 
of  a  series  of  letters,  which  he  never  published,  and  which, 
though  not  destitute  of  merit,  it  would  be  unnecessary  to 
notice  here,  did  not  the  composition  of  it  seem  to  have  been 
the  circumstance  which  led  to  his-  subsequent  efforts  in  the 
same  walk.  On  this  work  he  remarks  in  his  journal,  "  I 
commenced  something  in  the  form  of  a  romance.  I  had  at 
first  no  definite  conceptions  of  my  design.  As  my  pen  pro- 


CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN.  II 

ceeded  forward,  my  invention  was  tasked,  and  the  materials 
that  it  afforded  were  arranged  and  digested."  "  Every  new 
attempt  will  be  better  than  the  last,  and,  considered  in  the 
light  of  a  prelude  or  first  link,  it  may  merit  that  praise  to 
which  it  may  possess  no  claim,  considered  as  a  last,  best 
creation." 

It  was  indeed  a  prelude  to  a  series,  which  he  now  in  rapid 
succession  produced,  of  the  most  original,  powerful,  and 
masterly,  though  faulty  and  in  some  respects  imperfect  and 
objectionable,  works  of  fiction  of  which  American  literature 
could  then,  or  perhaps  can  now,  boast;  and  which  will  ad 
vantageously  sustain  a  comparison  with  European  works  of 
the  same  species  of  composition,  ia  most  of  the  qualities 
essential  to  such  productions. 

Mr.  Brown  wrote  six  works  of  this  description,  upon  which 
his  fame  has  hitherto  chiefly  rested : — "  Wieland,"  "  Ormoud," 
"Arthur  Mervyn,"  "Edgar  Huntly,"  "Clara  Howard,"  and 
"Jane  Talbot."  The  first  five  were  published  in  the  interval 
that  elapsed  from  the  spring  of  1798  till  the  summer  of  1801, 
a  period  of  little  more  than  three  years,  and  in  which  he 
completed  his  thirtieth  year.  The  last  was  published  some 
what  later. 

Upon  the  character  of  these  fictions  little  more  can  be 
said  upon  this  occasion.  They  have  now  in  their  favour 
the  voice  of  British  criticism,  tardy  as  it  has  ever  been  to 
proclaim  the  merits  of  American  genius;  and  that  excellence 
must  indeed  be  positive  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic  which 
can  win  or  extort  applause  from  the  judges  on  the  other. 
They  are  indeed  remarkable  productions.  Once  read,  the 
impression  they  make  is  never  forgotten.  They  are  original 
in  every  sense, —  in  the  conception,  the  style,  the  execution; 
in  the  characters,  sentiments,  manners,  incidents,  altogether 
original.  Full  of  energy  and  pathos,  they  abound  with  pas 
sages  of  genuine  eloquence  and  irresistible  force.  Few 
works  excite  such  breathless  anxiety  and  awful  apprehension. 
The  tone  of  seriousness  and  solemnity  that  pervades  them 
repels  the  ordinary  reader  of  novels.  One  fond  of  mere 


12  MEMOIR   OF 

love-tales  must  not  look  into  them  for  enjoyment.  They  are 
calculated  only  for  those  who  indulge  in  the  deep  and  power 
ful  emotions;  for  those  who  think  and  feel  strongly;  who 
delight  patiently  to  trace  every  action  to  its  appropriate 
motive;  and  to  mark  the  ebbs  and  flows  of  passion,  and 
follow  them  out  to  their  furthest  consequences.  To  such 
readers  they  will  always  be  welcome,  notwithstanding  the 
admission  that  the  characters  and  incidents  are  too  frequently 
in  extremes  and  lie  barely  within  the  range  of  probability. 
Few  writers  of  fictitious  narrative  can  be  pronounced  equal 
to  Mr.  Brown  in  the  analysis  of  the  thoughts  and  emotions 
of  the  soul,  in  exquisite  skill  in  the  arrangement  and  de 
velopment  of  incidents,  and  in  accuracy,  extent,  and  variety 
of  knowledge. 

During  this  period  he  not  only  wrote  a  variety  of  essays 
and  fugitive  pieces  in  prose  and  verse,  some  of  which  were 
published  in  the  journals  of  the  day,  but  he  at  the  same 
time  conducted,  with  great  credit  and  ability,  a  periodical 
work,  in  the  city  of  New  York,  under  the  title  of  the 
"  Monthly  Magazine  and  American  Review."  This  work — 
begun  in  April,  1799,  and  closed  in  the  autumn  of  the  year 
1800 — was  almost  entirely  the  production  of  his  own  pen; 
though  he  received  some  valuable  contributions  from  his 
literary  and  scientific  friends,  particularly  in  the  critical 
department.  It  abounds  with  curious  and  learned  essays, 
ingenious  speculations,  interesting  tales,  and  valuable  informa 
tion,  and  affords  some  of  the  best  specimens  of  liberal,  can 
did,  and  manly  criticism  that  the  American  press  has  hitherto 
produced. 

In  closing  this  short  summary  of  his  first  literary  labors, 
it  is  but  justice  to  his  memory  to  claim  for  him  the  honour 
of  having  been  among  the  first — perhaps  of  having  been  the 
first  —  of  those  American  writers  who  set  an  example  of 
literary  independence  by  drawing  upon  their  own  resources, 
thus  stimulating  the  national  mind  to  exertion  in  the  fields 
of  literature  and  science.  He  was,  it  is  believed,  the  first 
native  American  author  who  devoted  himself  to  literary  pur- 


CHARLES  BROCK  DEN  BROWN.  13 

suits  as  a  regular  occupation,  and  who  depended  upon  them 
for  a  permanent  support. 

Mr.  Brown  continued  to  reside  in  the  city  of  New  York 
and  its  neighbourhood  from  the  spring  of  1798  till  the  autumn 
of  the  year  1800,  at  the  conclusion  of  which  he  removed  to 
his  native  city,  Philadelphia. 

Riper  years  and  more  extensive  communion  with  his 
fellow-men  during  his  residence  in  New  York  corrected,  with 
out  weakening,  his  moral  enthusiasm  and  romantic  sensi 
bilities.  The  realities  of  experience  were  gradually  and 
imperceptibly  substituted  for  the  visions  of  a  glowing  and 
luxurious  imagination,  and  his  moral  progress  was  eminently 
beneficial  and  salutary.  Friendship  in  him  was  so  powerful 
and  elevated  a  sentiment  that  not  even  the  dangers  of  pesti 
lence  could  deter  him  from  the  performance  of  those  duties 
which  it  seemed  to  him  to  prescribe. 

Though  he  made  occasional  excursions  in  the  warm  sea 
sons,  sometimes  for  health  and  sometimes  for  pleasure  and 
relaxation,  yet  his  favourite  studies  and  pursuits  were  zealously 
continued,  and  he  added  largely  to  the  ample  stock  of  litera 
ture  and  science  which  he  had  previously  acquired.  His 
correspondence  was  prosecuted  with  his  wonted  'activity,  and 
his  journals  were,  as  usual,  detailed  and  copious.  His  pen, 
indeed,  was  incessantly  employed;  and,  for  the  three  years 
succeeding  his  return  to  his  paternal  abode,  he  not  only 
wrote  a  variety  of  lighter  essays,  in  prose  and  verse,  but 
planned  and  made  considerable  collections  for  future  works 
of  more  durable  utility  and  elevated  aim  than  any  he  had 
yet  produced,  and  from  which,  when  completed,  he  might 
expect  both  profit  and  reputation. 

The  year  1803  was  an  important  era  in  his  life,  as  from 
this  is  to  bo  dated  the  commencement  of  his  career  as  a 
political  writer;  and  we  can  only  regret  that  he  did  not  write 
more  on  subjects  of  such  vast  practical  importance,  upon 
which  he  has  shown  himself  so  admirably  qualified  to  write 
well.  Three  of  the  speculations  which  he  published  at 
different  periods  upon  political  subjects  are  especially  worthy 


14  MEMOIR   OF 

of  notice  and  consideration: — that  on  the  " Cession  of  Loui 
siana  to  France,"  that  on  the  "  Treaty  with  England  rejected 
by  Mr.  Jefferson,"  and  that  on  "  Commercial  Restrictions." 

The  candid  and  impartial  reader  will  bestow  upon  these 
productions  no  mean  praise.  They  are  evidently  the  work 
of  a  clear,  sagacious,  original,  and  comprehensive  thinker; 
the  soundness  and  accuracy  of  whose  views  and  opinions  are 
strongly  implied  in  the  manliness,  candour,  and  perspicuity 
with  which  those  of  the  adverse  parties  are  stated  and  exa 
mined.  To  the  praise  of  variety  and  depth  of  knowledge, 
vigour  of  argument,  and  comprehensiveness  of  view,  they  are 
eminently  entitled.  They  display  a  boldness  and  independ 
ence  of  thought,  a  freedom  from  prejudice  and  party  bias, 
and  an  impartiality  of  decision,  very  unusual  in  writings  of 
this  description  among  us.  The  characteristic  originality  of 
the  author  is  seen  in  almost  every  page.  On  subjects  so 
complicated  and  various  as  these  discussed  in  these  produc 
tions,  different  opinions  may  be  entertained  and  different 
conclusions  drawn  by  men  of  the  greatest  knowledge  and 
brightest  intellect,  without  subjecting  them  to  the  imputa 
tion  of  ignorance  or  unfairness.  Of  the  ability  displayed  in 
these  essays,  a  careful  perusal  will  afford  decisive  evidence. 
For  the  disinterestedness  and  purity  of  the  author's  motives, 
those  who  knew  him  best  can  best  answer.  No  American 
could  be  actuated  by  a  more  noble  and  elevated  patriotism, 
or  could  perceive  more  clearly  and  paint  more  vividly  the 
glorious  destinies  of  his  country. 

A  second  edition  of  the  "  Cession  of  Louisiana"  was  called 
for  and  speedily  issued  in  February,  1803.  The  public  at 
tention  was  ingeniously  and  forcibly  directed  to  the  import 
ance  of  the  acquisition,  and  to  the  necessity  that  it  should, 
at  all  hazards,  be  secured  to  these  States.  We  may  there 
fore  justly  claim  for  the  author  the  honour  of  having,  in  some 
small  degree,  contributed  to  the  subsequent  annexation  of 
that  important  and  extensive  country  to  the  American 
Union. 

There  was  nothing  for  which  he  had  a  deeper  abhorrence 


CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN.  I/ 

matter  of  a  number  himself.  When  the  variety  of  articles 
embraced  in  a  number  of  this  miscellany  is  considered,  wo 
cannot  but  acknowledge  the  versatility  of  his  powers  and 
the  abundance  of  his  resources  who  could  so  readily  and 
promptly  produce  essays  on  topics  so  diversified.  This  work 
is  an  honourable  evidence  of  the  taste,  knowledge,  talents, 
and  attainments  of  its  indefatigable  editor. 

Single,  enjoying  the  pleasures  of  friendship  and  social 
intercourse,  full  of  literary  occupation,  with  brightening 
prospects  and  a  rising  reputation,  honourably  supported  by 
the  labours  of  his  pen,  and  free  from  all  cares  but  those 
incident  to  the  life  of  a  literary  man,  he  seemed  to  have 
reached  a  situation  in  all  respects  gratifying  and  satisfactory 
to  the  votary  of  letters.  He  was  not  insensible  to  the 
advantages  of  this  condition;  and  a  year  passed  away  in 
abundant  occupation  and  eager  anticipations  of  future  felicity 
from  that  state  into  which,  at  the  close  of  this  year,  he  was 
for  the  first  time  to  enter. 

In  November,  1804,  he  was  married  to  Miss  Elizabeth 
Linn,  of  New  York.  This  lady  was  the  daughter  of  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Linn,  of  that  city,  a  clergyman  of  the  Presbyterian 
Church,  of  great  respectability  and  superior  eloquence. 

After  his  marriage  he  became  a  permanent  resident  in  his 
native  city.  Of  his  domestic  condition  and  prospects  he 
must  be  his  own  historian.  He  says,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend, 
"  As  to  myself,  my  friend,  you  judge  rightly  when  you  think 
me  situated  happily.  My  present  way  of  life  is  in  every 
respect  to  my  mind.  There  is  nothing  to  disturb  my  felicity 
but  the  sense  of  the  uncertainty  and  instability  that  cling 
to  every  thing  human.  .  .  .  My  business,  if  I  may  so  call  it, 
is  altogether  pleasurable,  and,  such  as  it  is,  it  occupies  not 
one  fourth  of  my  time.  ...  I  have  nothing  to  wish  but 
that  my  present  situation  may  last."  This  was  written  in 
1805.  In  the  summer  of  the  following  year,  he  writes  thus 
of  his  home  to  another  friend: — "You  will  find  it  the  abode 
of  content,  and  may  enjoy  the  spectacle,  not  very  common, 
of  a  happy  family/7 
2 


1 8  MEMOIR   OF 

Thus  happily  situated,  notwithstanding  the  delicacy  of  his 
health,  his  literary  labours  were  prosecuted  with  his  accus 
tomed  zeal  and  perseverance;  and,  in  the  year  succeeding  his 
marriage,  he  commemorated  the  virtues  and  abilities  of  his 
departed  friend,  Dr.  J.  B.  Linn,  the  brother  of  his  wife,  in 
one  of  the  most  elegant  and  interesting  biographical  sketches 
with  which  we  are  acquainted.  It  is,  indeed,  in  our  appre 
hension,  a  model  of  its  kind.  The  facts,  though  few,  are 
judiciously  arrranged,  and  the  character  is  gradually  and  dis 
tinctly  developed  with  singular  correctness  and  felicity.  His 
taste  and  skill  in  this  department  of  composition,  as  well  as 
in  others,  were  frequently  exercised  in  the  columns  of  the 
"Portfolio,"  to  which,  from  its  commencement,  he  was  a 
large  contributer. 

Unwearied  in  his  efforts  to  promote  knowledge,  he  com 
menced  in  the  year  1806  a  new  annual  publication  devoted 
to  history,  politics,  and  science,  under  the  title  of  the 
"  American  Register/'  This  work,  the  only  one  of  the  kind 
yet  attempted,  we  believe,  in  this  country,  was  successfully 
and  vigorously  continued  by  him  until  the  close  of  the 
year  1809. 

When  it  is  considered  that  the  "  Magazine"  and  "  Register" 
were  both  conducted  by  him  at  the  same  time  for  a  consider 
able  period  after  the  commencement  of  the  latter,  an  opinion 
favourable  to  his  zeal  and  application  will  readily  be  admitted. 
But  he  deserves  other  and  higher  praise. 

In  the  "  American  Register"  the  powers  of  this  admirable 
writer  are  displayed  in  a  new  and  more  imposing  manner. 
This  work  exhibits  him  to  his  countrymen  as  a  historian. 
Though  his  own  modesty  named  that  merely  annals  which 
impartial  criticism  will  scarcely  hesitate  to  call  history,  we 
cannot  but  declare  the  conviction  that  his  narrative  of 
European  and  American  affairs  from  the  year  1806  to  the 
year  1809  is  not  surpassed,  if  equalled,  by  any  contemporary 
sketch  of  the  same  period  that  has  hitherto  been  presented 
to  the  public.  It  proves  the  author  to  have  possessed  the 
essential  qualities  of  an  able  historian, — sound  comprehen- 


CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN.  19 

eive  judgment,  keen  discriminating  sagacity,  independence 
and  vigour  of  mind,  rigid  impartiality,  command  of  language, 
and  ample  knowledge.  Its  tendencies  are  in  the  highest 
degree  favourable  to  the  cause  of  national  virtue  and  enlight 
ened  freedom.* 

Of  the  other  portions  of  this  work,  though  valuable  and 
the  result  of  great  labour,  it  is  unnecessary  to  speak.  This 
and  the  pamphlet  before  mentioned  on  "Commercial  Re 
strictions"  were  the  last  of  his  publications. 

Thus,  from  1804  till  the  summer  of  1809,  was  he  almost 
incessantly  employed.  He  had  in  this  interval  nearly  com 
pleted  an  extensive  system  of  "  General  Geography,"^  and 
made  considerable  progress  in  a  work  on  "  Rome  during  the 
Age  of  the  Antonines/'  similar  to  "Anacharsis'  Travels  in 
Greece/7  when  disease  invaded  his  frame  so  seriously  that  he 
was  compelled  to  desist  from  his  labours,  and  go  in  search  of 
that  health  which  it  was  now  almost  hopeless  to  find. 

In  the  summer  of  1809,  he  left  home  for  this  purpose,  and 
passed  a  short  time  with  some  friends  in  New  Jersey  and 
New  York.  He  says,  in  a  letter  written  upon  this  occasion, 
"  When  have  I  known  that  lightness  and  vivacity  of  mind 
which  the  divine  flow  of  health,  even  in  calamity,  produces  in 
some  men  ?  Never ! — scarcely  ever !  Not  longer  than  half  an 
hour  at  a  time  since  I  have  called  myself  man."  It  is  hardly 
necessary  to  say  that  he  returned  without  benefit  to  the  home 
he  had  left  with  great  reluctance. 

He  was  naturally  inclined  to  consumption,  and  his  appli- 

*  The  historical  part  of  the  "American  Register,"  written  by  Mr.  Brown, 
would  make  an  octavo  of  about  four  hundred  pages,  and  the  republication 
of  it  might  be  useful. 

f  This  able  work  was  entirely  completed  at  his  decease,  except  the  part 
relating  to  the  United  States.  The  full  original  manuscript  is  now  in  the 
possession  of  William  Linn  Brown,  Esq.,  of  this  city,  since  perfected  in  the 
part  relating  to  the  United  States,  and  at  some  early  day  will  be  presented 
to  the  public.  A  gentleman,  who  was  a  native  of  Britain,  and  perfectly 
acquainted  with  the  subject,  and  who  had  read  the  manuscript  of  the 
account  of  London  contained  in  this  work,  declared  it  to  be,  beyond  com 
parison,  the  best  history  of  that  city  which  he  had  ever  seen. 


20  MEMOIR    OF 

cation  only  confirmed  the  predisposition.  His  friends  were 
alarmed,  and  urged  the  necessity  of  a  sea-voyage  for  the 
benefit  of  his  health;  but  home  was  too  dear  to  him  to  be 
left  for  so  long  a  time  as  this  would  require.  The  disease 
now  began  to  assume  a  more  threatening  aspect,  and  his 
friends  again  became  importunate  for  him  to  try  a  voyage  to 
Europe.  He  at  last  consented,  and  the  spring  of  1810  was 
fixed  upon  as  the  period  of  his  departure  for  England. 

The  disease,  however,  did  not  abate.  On  the  10th  of 
November,  1809,  he  was  attacked  with  a  violent  pain  in  his 
side,  for  which  he  was  bled.  He  was  now  confined  to  his 
chamber,  and  his  situation  became  evidently  more  alarming. 
Day  after  day  passed  away,  but  there  was  no  symptom  of 
amendment.  The  malady  was  making  fearful  progress,  and 
the  hearts  of  his  friends  sunk  within  them  at  the  bare  con 
ception  of  the  catastrophe  that  was  rapidly  approaching. 
His  sufferings  were  acute  and  severe,  but  his  patience  and 
fortitude  were  superior  to  calamity.  He  was  aware  of  his 
danger  from  the  beginning,  and  perfectly  conscious  of  the 
fate  that  awaited  him.  In  his  long  confinement  he  was 
scarcely  ever  free  from  pain;  but  the  same  gentleness  and 
simplicity  of  manners,  the  same  sweetness  of  conversation, 
which  distinguished  him  in  health  shone  conspicuously  in 
sickness.  He  was  the  same  gentle,  forbearing,  humble  being 
he  had  ever  been. 

One  who  was  bound  to  him  by  the  strongest  ties,  and  who 
will  ever  revere  his  memory,  thus  describes  his  deportment 
at  this  trying  season: — "He  always  felt  for  others  more  than 
for  himself;  and  the  evidences  of  sorrow  in  those  around 
him,  which  could  not  at  all  times  be  suppressed,  appeared  to 
affect  him  more  than  his  own  sufferings.  "Whenever  he 
spoke  of  the  probability  of  a  fatal  termination  to  his  disease, 
it  was  in  an  indirect  and  covert  manner;  as,  (  You  must  do 
so-and-so  when  I  am  absent/  or,  <  when  I  am  asleep.'  He 
surrendered  not  up  one  faculty  of  his  soul  but  with  his  last 
breath  He  saw  death  in  every  step  of  his  approach,  and 
received  him  as  a  messenger  that  brought  with  him  no 


CHARLES  BR  0  CKDEN  BR  0  WN.  2 1 

terrors.  He  frequently  expressed  his  resignation;  but  his 
resignation  was  not  produced  by  apathy  or  pain,  for,  while  he 
bowed  with  submission  to  the  divine  will,  he  felt,  with  the 
keenest  sensibility,  his  separation  from  those  who  made  this 
world  but  too  dear  to  him.  Towards  the  last,  he  spoke  of 
death  without  disguise,  and  appeared  to  wish  to  prepare  his 
friends  for  the  event  which  he  felt  to  be  approaching.  A  few 
days  previous  to  his  change,  while  sitting  up  in  bed,  he  fixed 
his  eyes  on  the  sky,  and  desired  not  to  be  spoken  to  until  he 
should  first  speak.  In  this  position,  and  with  a  serene  coun 
tenance,  he  continued  some  minutes,  and  then  said  to  his 
wife,  'When  I  desired  you  not  to  speak  to  me,  I  had  the 
most  transporting  and  sublime  feelings  I  ever  experienced.  I 
wanted  to  enjoy  them,  and  to  know  how  long  they  would 
last/  He  concluded  with  requesting  her  to  remember  the 
circumstance/' 

His  sufferings  were  protracted  till  February,  1810.  On 
the  morning  of  the  19th  of  that  month,  his  anxious  family 
saw  with  emotions  not  to  be  expressed  that  a  fatal  change  had 
taken  place.  He  thought  himself  dying,  and,  at  his  request, 
his  family  and  friends  were  assembled  round  his  bed.  He 
addressed  them  successively  with  the  utmost  tenderness  and 
affection.  He  lingered,  however,  for  three  days  longer,  con 
versing  as  usual  with  perfect  composure  and  self-possession. 
On  the  22d,  the  final  summons  came,  and,  with  clear  and 
unclouded  faculties,  he  yielded  up  his  soul  to  Him  who 
gave  it. 

Thus  died,  at  the  early  age  of  thirty-nine,  a  martyr  to 
letters,  CHARLES  BROOKDEN  BROWN,  who  to  eminence  in 
knowledge  and  strength  of  genius  added  a  moral  purity 
and  elevation  of  sentiment  above  all  praise;  whose  character 
exhibited  the  rare  union  of  intellectual  superiority  and  un 
feigned  modesty,  and  whose  whole  life  was  radiant  with 
virtue  and  goodness.  He  was  one  of  the  most  disinterested 
of  men,  and  to  the  base  and  malignant  passions  he  was  an 
utter  stranger.  Distinguished  for  genius  himself,  he  was  the 
enthusiastic  admirer  of  it  in  others.  He  knew  not  how  tc 


22  MEMOIR   OF 

envy.  Intellectual  exercise  of  every  kind  was  perfectly 
familiar  to  him,  and  he  could,  with  equal  ease  and  without 
premeditation,  enter  into  solid  and  elaborate  argument  or 
sport  in  all  the  luxuriance  of  fiction.  Mild,  retiring,  and 
amiable,  his  manners  had  a  simplicity  and  unobtrusiveness 
and  his  conversation  a  sweetness  that  cannot  soon  be  for 
gotten  by  his  friends.  With  great  colloquial  powers  and 
inexhaustible  stores  of  knowledge,  he  would  frequently  listen 
and  modestly  receive  from  others  what  he  was  much  better 
qualified  to  give.  No  one  enjoyed  with  a  keener  relish  the 
delights  of  social  intercourse;  but  it  was  in  the  converse 
of  the  domestic  circle  that  his  gratification  was  complete. 
He  enjoyed  the  singular  felicity  of  numbering  among  his  best 
friends  his  relations  by  marriage  as  well  as  by  birth,  by  whom 
his  memory  is  cherished  with  the  warmest  affection  and 
reverence.  The  literature  of  America  owes  him  much,  and 
our  countrymen  will  do  justice  to  the  merits  of  one  equally 
entitled  to  the  admiration  of  the  mind  and  the  homage  of 
the  heart. 

NOTE. — Mr.  Brown  left  four  children.  The  youngest  son,  Eugene  Linn 
Brown,  died  of  consumption  on  the  1st  of  April,  1824,  in  the  seventeenth 
year  of  his  age.  Of  this  boy  much  could  be  told.  In  love  of  knowledge, 
in  capacity  for  acquiring  it,  and  in  every  endearing  virtue  of  the  heart,  he 
resembled  his  father.  He  is  now  mingling  with  kindred  spirits. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


THE  following  work  is  delivered  to  the  world  as  the  first  of 
a  series  of  performances,  which  the  favourable  reception  of 
this  will  induce  the  writer  to  publish.  His  purpose  is  neither 
selfish  nor  temporary,  but  aims  at  the  illustration  of  some 
important  branches  of  the  moral  constitution  of  man.  Whe 
ther  this  tale  will  be  classed  with  the  ordinary  or  frivolous 
sources  of  amusement,  or  be  ranked  with  the  few  productions 
whose  usefulness  secures  to  them  a  lasting  reputation,  the 
reader  must  be  permitted  to  decide. 

The  incidents  related  are  extraordinary  and  rare.  Some  of 
themj  perhaps^_approach  as  nearly  to  the  nature  of  miracles 
as  can  be  done  by  that  which  is  not  truly  miraculous.  It  is 
hoped  that  intelligent  readers  will  not  disapprove  of  the 
manner  in  which  appearances  are  solved,  but  that  the  solu 
tion  will  be  found  to  correspond  with  the  known  principles 
of  human  nature.  The  power  which  the  principal  person  is 
said  to  possess  can  scarcely  be  denied  to  be  real.  It  must 
be  acknowledged  to  be  extremely  rare ;  but  no  fact,  equally 
uncommon,  is  supported  by  the  same  strength  of  historical 
evidence. 


24  AD  VER  TI SEME  NT. 

Some  readers  may  think  the  conduct  of  the  younger  Wie- 
land  impossible.  In  support  of  its  possibility  the  writer  must 
appeal  to  physicians,  and  to  men  conversant  with  the  latent 
springs  and  occasional  perversions  of  the  human  mind.  It 
will  not  be  objected  that  the  instances  of  similar  delusion  are 
rare,  because  it  is  the  business  of  moral  painters  to  exhibit 
their  subject  in  its  most  instructive  and  memorable  forms. 
If  history  furnishes  one  parallel  fact,  it  is  a  sufficient  vindica 
tion  of  the  writer;  but  most  readers  will  probably  recollect 
an  authentic  case,  remarkably  similar  to  that  of  Wieland. 

It  will  be  necessary  to  add,  that  this  narrative  is  addressed, 
in  an  epistolary  form,  by  the  lady  whose  story  it  contains,  to  a 
small  number  of  friends,  whose  curiosity,  with  regard  to  it, 
had  been  greatly  awakened.  It  may  likewise  be  mentioned, 
that  these  events  took  place  between  the  conclusion  of  the 
French  and  the  beginning  of  the  Revolutionary  War.  The 
memoirs  of  Carwin,  alluded  to  at  the  conclusion  of  the  work, 
will  be  published  or  suppressed  according  to  the  reception 
which  is  given  to  the  present  attempt. 

C.  B.  B. 

September  3,  1798. 


WI  E  L  AND. 


CHAPTER  I. 

I  FEEL  little  reluctance  in  complying  with  your  request. 
You  know  not  fully  the  cause  of  my  sorrows.  You  are 
a  stranger  to  the  depth  of  my  distresses.  Hence  your 
efforts  at  consolation  must  necessarily  fail.  Yet  the  tale 
that  I  am  going  to  tell  is  not  intended  as  a  claim  upon 
your  sympathy.  In  the  midst  of  my  despair,  I  do  not 
disdain  to  contribute  what  little  I  can  to  the  benefit  of 
mankind.  I  acknowledge  your  right  to  be  informed  of 
the  events  that  have  lately  happened  in  my  family.  Make 
what  use  of  the  tale  you  shall  think  proper.  If  it  be  com 
municated  to  the  world,  it  will  inculcate  the  duty  of  avoid 
ing  deceit.  It  will  exemplify  the  force  of  early  impres 
sions,  and  show  the  immeasurable  evils  that  flow  from  an 
erroneous  or  imperfect  discipline. 

My  state  is  not  destitute  of  tranquillity.  The  senti 
ment  that  dictates  my  feelings  is  not  hope.  Futurity  has 
no  power  over  my  thoughts.  To  all  that  is  to  come  I  am 
perfectly  indifferent.  With  regard  to  myself,  I  have  no 
thing  more  to  fear.  Fate  has  done  its  worst.  Hence 
forth,  I  am  callous  to  misfortune. 

I  address  no  supplication  to  the  Deity.  The  power  that  j 
governs  the  course  of  human  affairs  has  chosen  his  path. 
The  decree  that  ascertained  the  condition  of  my  life  ad 
mits  of  no  recall.  No  doubt  it  squares  with  the  maxims 
of  eternal  equity.  That  is  neither  to  be  questioned  nor 
denied  by  me.  It  suffices  that  the  past  is  exempt  from 
mutation.  The  storm  that  tore  up  our  happiness,  and 
changed  into  dreariness  and  desert  the  blooming  scene 
of  our  existence,  is  lulled  into  grim  repose ;  but  not  until 
the  victim  was  transfixed  and  mangled ;  till  every  ob- 

25 


26  WIELAND;    OR, 

stacle  was  dissipated  by  its  rage ;  till  every  remnant  of 
good  was  wrested  from  our  grasp  and  exterminated. 

How  will  your  wonder,  and  that  of  your  companions,  be 
excited  by  my  story !  Every  sentiment  will  yield  to  your 
amazement.  If  my  testimony  were  without  corrobora- 
tions,  you  would  reject  it  as  incredible.  The  experience 
of  no  human  being  can  furnish  a  parallel :  that  I,  beyond 
the  rest  of  mankind,  should  be  reserved  for  a  destiny 
without  alleviation  and  without  example !  Listen  to  my 
narrative,  and  then  say  what  it  is  that  has  made  me  de 
serve  to  be  placed  on  this  dreadful  eminence,  if,  indeed, 
every  faculty  be  not  suspended  in  wonder  that  I  am  still 
alive  and  am  able  to  relate  it. 

My  father's  ancestry  was  noble  on  the  paternal  side ; 
but  his  mother  was  the  daughter  of  a  merchant.  My 
grandfather  was  a  younger  brother,  and  a  native  of 
Saxony.  He  was  placed,  when  he  had  reached  the  suit 
able  age,  at  a  German  college.  During  the  vacations,  he 
employed  himself  in  traversing  the  neighbouring  terri 
tory.  On  one  occasion  it  was  his  fortune  to  visit  Ham 
burg.  He  formed  an  acquaintance  with  Leonard  Weise, 
a  merchant  of  that  city,  and  was  a  frequent  guest  at  his 
house.  The  merchant  had  an  only  daughter,  for  whom 
his  guest  speedily  contracted  an  affection ;  and,  in  spite 
of  parental  menaces  and  prohibitions,  he,  in  due  season, 
became  her  husband. 

By  this  act  he  mortally  offended  his  relations.  Thence 
forward  he  was  entirely  disowned  and  rejected  by  them. 
They  refused  to  contribute  any  thing  to  his  support.  All 
intercourse  ceased,  and  he  received  from  them  merely 
that  treatment  to  which  an  absolute  stranger,  or  detested 
enemy,  would  be  entitled. 

He  found  an  asylum  in  the  house  of  his  new  father, 
whose  temper  was  kind,  and  whose  pride  was  flattered  by 
this  alliance.  The  nobility  of  his  birth  was  put  in  the 
balance  against  his  poverty.  Weise  conceived  himself,  on 
the  whole,  to  have  acted  with  the  highest  discretion  in  thus 
disposing  of  his  child.  My  grandfather  found  it  incum 
bent  on  him  to  search  out  some  mode  of  independent  sub 
sistence.  His  youth  had  been  eagerly  devoted  to  litera 
ture  and  music.  These  had  hitherto  been  cultivated 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  2J 

merely  as  sources  of  amusement.  They  were  now  con 
verted  into  the  mean's  of  gain.  At  this  period  there 
were  few  works  of  taste  in  the  Saxon  dialect.  My  an 
cestor  may  be  considered  as  the  founder  of  the  German 
Theatre.  The  modern  poet  of  the  same  name  is  sprung 
from  the  same  family,  and,  perhaps,  surpasses  but  little, 
in  the  fruitfulness  of  his  invention,  or  the  soundness  of 
his  taste,  the  elder  Wieland.  His  life  was  spent  in  the 
composition  of  sonatas  and  dramatic  pieces.  They  were 
not  unpopular,  but  merely  afforded  him  a  scanty  subsist 
ence.  He  died  in  the  bloom  of  his  life,  and  was  quickly 
followed  to  the  grave  by  his  wife.  Their  only  child  was 
taken  under  the  protection  of  the  merchant.  At  an 
early  age  he  was  apprenticed  to  a  London  trader,  and 
passed  seven  years  of  mercantile  servitude. 

My  father  was  not  fortunate  in  the  character  of  him 
under  whose  care  he  was  now  placed.  He  was  treated 
with  rigour,  and  full  employment  was  provided  for  every 
hour  of  his  time.  His  duties  were  laborious  and  mechani 
cal.  He  had  been  educated  with  a  view  to  this  profession, 
and,  therefore,  was  not  tormented  with  unsatisfied  desires. 
He  did  not  hold  his  present  occupations  in  abhorrence 
because  they  withheld  him  from  paths  more  flowery  and 
more  smooth,  but  he  found  in  unintermitted  labour,  and 
in  the  sternness  of  his  master,  sufficient  occasions  for 
discontent.  No  opportunities  of  recreation  were  allowed 
him.  He  spent  all  his  time  pent  up  in  a  gloomy  apart 
ment,  or  traversing  narrow  and  crowded  streets.  His 
food  was  coarse,  and  his  lodging  humble. 

Hisj3£aj!_gnMlmy^  of  morose  and 

gloomy  reflection.  He  could  not  accurately  define  what 
waTwanting  to  his  happiness.  He  was  not  tortured  by 
comparisons  drawn  between  his  own  situation  and  that  of 
others.  His  state  was  such  as  suited  his  age  and  his 
views  as  to  fortune.  He  did  not  imagine  himself  treated 
with  extraordinary  or  unjustifiable  rigour.  In  this  respect 
he  supposed  the  condition  of  others,  bound  like  himself 
to  mercantile  service,  to  resemble  his  own ;  yet  every  en 
gagement  was  irksome,  and  every  hour  tedious  in  its  lapse. 

In  this  state  of  mind  he  chanced  to  light  upon  a  book 
written  by  one  of  the  teachers  of  the  Albigenses,  or 


28  WIELAND;    OR, 

French  Protestants.  He  entertained  no  relish  for  books^ 
and  was  wholly  unconscious  of  any  power  they  possessed 
to  delight  or  instruct.  This  volume  had  lain  for  years 
in  a  corner  of  his  garret,  half  buried  in  dust  and  rubbish. 
He  had  marked  it  as  it  lay ;  had  thrown  it,  as  his  occa 
sions  required,  from  one  spot  to  another ;  but  had  felt  no 
inclination  to  examine  its  contents,  or  even  to  inquire 
what  was  the  subject  of  which  it  treated. 

One  Sunday  afternoon,  being  induced  to  retire  for  a 
few  minutes  to  his  garret,  his  eye  was  attracted  by  a  page 
of  this  book,  which,  by  some  accident,  had  been  opened 
and  placed  full  in  his  view.  He  was  seated  on  the  edge 
of  his  bed,  and  was  employed  in  repairing  a  rent  in  some 
part  of  his  clothes.  His  eyes  were  not  confined  to  his 
work,  but,  occasionally  wandering,  lighted  at  length  upon 
the  page.  The  words  "Seek  and  ye  shall  find,"  were 
those  that  first  offered  themselves  to  his  notice.  His 
curiosity  was  roused  by  these  so  far  as  to  prompt  him  to 
proceed.  As  soon  as  he  finished  his  work,  he  took  up 
the  book  and  turned  to  the  first  page.  The  further  he 
read,  the  more  inducement  he  found  to  continue,  and  he 
regretted  the  decline  of  the  light  which  obliged  him  for 
the  present  to  close  it. 

The  book  contained  an  exposition  of  the  doctrine  of 
the  sect  of  Camisards,  and  an  historical  account  of  its 
origin.  His  mind  was  in  a  state  peculiarly  fitted  for  the 
reception  of  devotional  sentiments.  The  craving  which 
had  haunted  him  was  now  supplied  with  an  object.  His 
mind  was  at  no  loss  for  a  theme  of  meditation.  On  days 
of  business,  he  rose  at  the  dawn,  and  retired  to  his 
chamber  not  till  late  at  night.  He  now  supplied  himself 
with  candles,  and  employed  his  nocturnal  and  Sunday 
hours  in  studying  this  book.  It,  of  course,  abounded 
with  allusions  to  the  Bible.  All  its  conclusions  were 
deduced  from  the  sacred  text.  This  was  the  fountain, 
beyond  which  it  was  unnecessary  to  trace  the  stream  of 
religious  truth ;  but  it  was  his  duty  to  trace  it  thus  far. 

A  Bible  was  easily  procured,  and  he  ardently  entered  on 
the  study  of  it.  His  understanding  had  received  a  par 
ticular  direction.  All  his  reveries  were  fashioned  in  the 
same  mould.  His  progress  towards  the  formation  of  his 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  2$ 

creed  was  rapid.  Every  fact  and  sentiment  in  this  book 
were  viewed  through  a  medium  which  the  writings  of  the 
Camisard  apostle  had  suggested.  His  constructions  of 
the  text  were  hasty,  and  formed  on  a  narrow  scale. 
Every  thing  was  viewed  in  a  disconnected  position.  One 
action  and  one  precept  were  not  employed  to  illustrate 
and  restrict  the  meaning  of  another.  Hence  arose  a 
thousand  scruples  to  which  he  had  hitherto  been  a  stranger. 
He  was  alternately  agitated  by  fear  and  by  ecstasy.  He 
imagined  himself  beset  by  the  snares  of  a  spiritual  foe, 
and  that  his  security  lay  in  ceaseless  watchfulness  and 
prayer. 

His  morals,  which  had  never  been  loose,  were  now 
modelled  by  a  stricter  standard.  The  empire  of  religious 
duty  extended  itself  to  his  looks,  gestures,  and  phrases. 
All  levities  of  speech,  and  negligences  of  behaviour, 
were  proscribed.  His  air  was  mournful  and  contempla 
tive.  He  laboured  to  keep  alive  a  sentiment  of  fear,  and 
a  belief  of  the  awe-creating  presence  of  the  Deity.  Ideas 
foreign  to  this  were  sedulously  excluded.  To  suffer  their 
intrusion  was  a  crime  against  the  Divine  Majesty,  in 
expiable  but  by  days  and  weeks  of  the  keenest  agonies. 

ISk)  material  variation  had  occurred  in  the  lapse  of  two 
years.  Every  day  confirmed  him  in  his  present  modes  of 
thinking  and  acting.  It  was  to  be  expected  that  the  tide 
of  his  emotions  would  sometimes  recede,  that  intervals  of 
despondency  and  doubt  would  occur ;  but  these  gradually 
were  more  rare,  and  of  shorter  duration ;  and  he,  at  last, 
arrived  at  a  state  considerably  uniform  in  this  respect. 

His  apprenticeship  was  now  almost  expired.  On  his 
arrival  at  age  he  became  entitled,  by  the  will  of  my  grand 
father,  to  a  small  sum.  This  sum  would  hardly  suffice  to 
set  him  afloat  as  a  trader  in  his  present  situation,  and  he 
had  nothing  to  expect  from  the  generosity  of  his  master. 
Residence  in  England  had,  besides,  become  almost  im 
possible,  on  account  of  his  religious  tenets.  In  addition 
to  these  motives  for  seeking  a  new  habitation,  there  was 
another  of  the  most  imperious  and  irresistible  necessity. 
He  had  imbibed  an  opinion  that  it  was  his  duty  to  dis 
seminate  the  truths  of  the  gospel  among  the  unbelieving 
nations.  He  was  terrified  at  first  by  the  perils  and  hard- 


3O  VVIELAND;    OR, 

ships  to  which  the  life  of  a  missionary  is  exposed.  This 
cowardice  made  him  diligent  in  the  invention  of  objec 
tions  and  excuses ;  but  he  found  it  impossible  wholly  to 
shake  off  the  belief  that  such  was  the  injunction  of  his 
duty.  The  belief,'  after  every  new  conflict  with  his  pas 
sions,  acquired  new  strength ;  and,  at  length,  he  formed 
a  resolution  of  complying  with  what  he  deemed  the  will 
of  heaven. 

The  North  American  Indians  naturally  presented  them 
selves  as  the  first  objects  for  this  species  of  benevolence. 
As  soon  as  his  servitude  expired,  he  converted  his  little 
fortune  into  money,  and  embarked  for  Philadelphia.  Here 
his  fears  were  revived,  and  a  nearer  survey  of  savage  man 
ners  once  more  shook  his  resolution.  For  a  while  he  re 
linquished  his  purpose,  and,  purchasing  a  farm  on  the 
Schuylkill,  within  a  few  miles  of  the  city,  set  himself  down 
to  the  cultivation  of  it.  The  cheapness  of  land,  and  the 
service  of  African  slaves,  which  were  then  in  general  use, 
gave  him,  who  was  poor  in  Europe,  all  the  advantages  of 
wealth.  He  passed  fourteen  years  in  a  thrifty  and  labo 
rious  manner.  In  this  time  new  objects,  new  employ 
ments,  and  new  associates  appeared  to  have  nearly  oblite 
rated  the  devout  impressions  of  his  youth.  He  now  be 
came  acquainted  with  a  woman  of  a  meek  and  quiet  dis 
position,  and  of  slender  acquirements  like  himself.  He 
proffered  his  hand  and  was  accepted. 

His  previous  industry  had  now  enabled  him  to  dispense 
with  personal  labour,  and  direct  attention  to  his  own  con 
cerns.  He  enjoyed  leisure,  and  was  visited  afresh  by  de 
votional  contemplation.  The  reading  of  the  Scriptures, 
and  other  religious  books,  became  once  more  his  favour 
ite  employment.  His  ancient  belief  relative  to  the  con 
version  of  the  savage  tribes  was  revived  with  uncommon 
energy.  To  the  former  obstacles  were  now  added  the 
pleadings  of  parental  and  conjugal  love.  The  struggle 
was  long  and  vehement ;  but  his  sense  of  duty  would  not 
be  stifled  or  enfeebled,  and  finally  triumphed  over  every 
impediment. 

His  efforts  were  attended  with  no  permanent  success. 
His  exhortations  had  sometimes  a  temporary  power,  but 
more  frequently  were  repelled  with  insult  and  derision.  In 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  3! 

pursuit  of  this  object  he  encountered  the  most  imminent 
perils,  and  underwent  incredible  fatigues,  hunger,  sickness, 
and  solitude.  The  license  of  savage  passion,  and  the  ar 
tifices  of  his  depraved  countrymen,  all  opposed  themselves 
to  his  progress.  His  courage  did  not  forsake  him  till  there 
appeared  no  reasonable  ground  to  hope  for  success.  Ho 
desisted  not  till  his  heart  was  relieved  from  the  supposed 
obligation  to  persevere.  With  a  constitution  somewhat  de 
cayed,  he  at  length  returned  to  his  family.  An  interval  of 
tranquillity  succeeded.  He  was  frugal,  regular,  and  strict 
in  the  performance  of  domestic  duties.  He  allied  himself 
with  no  sect,  because  he  perfectly  agreed  with  none.  So 
cial  worship  is  that  by  which  they  are  all  distinguished ; 
but  this  article  found  no  place  in  his  creed.  He  rigidly 
interpreted  that  precept  which  enjoins  us,  when  we  worship, 
to  retire  into  solitude,  and  shut  out  every  species  of 
society.  According  to  him,  devotion  was  not  only  a  silent 
office,  but  must  be  performed  alone.  An  hour  at  noon 
and  an  hour  at  midnight  were  thus  appropriated. 

At  the  distance  of  three  hundred  yards  from  his  house, 
on  the  top  of  a  rock  whose  sides  were  steep,  rugged,  and 
encumbered  with  dwarf  cedars  and  stony  asperities,  he 
built  what  to  a  common  eye  would  have  seemed  a  summer- 
house.  The  eastern  verge  of  this  precipice  was  sixty  feet 
above  the  river  wrhich  flowed  at  its  foot.  The  view  before  it 
consisted  of  a  transparent  current,  fluctuating  and  rippling 
in  a  rocky  channel,  and  bounded  by  a  rising  scene  of  corn 
fields  and  orchards.  The  edifice  was  slight  and  airy.  It 
was  no  more  than  a  circular  area,  twelve  feet  in  diameter, 
whose  flooring  was  the  rock,  cleared  of  moss  and  shrubs, 
and  exactly  levelled,  edged  by  twelve  Tuscan  columns, 
and  covered  by  an  undulating  dome.  My  father  furnished 
the  dimensions  and  outlines,  but  allowed  the  artist,  whom 
he  employed,  to  complete  the  structure  on  his  own  plan. 
It  was  without  seat,  table,  or  ornament  of  any  kind. 

This  was  the  temple  of  his  Deity.  Twice  in  twenty-four 
hours  he  repaired  hither,  unaccompanied  by  any  human 
being.  Nothing  but  physical  inability  to  move  was  allowed 
to  obstruct  or  postpone  this  visit.  He  did  not  exact  from 
his  family  compliance  wTith  his  example.  Few  men,  equally 
sincere  in  their  faith,  were  as  sparing  in  their  censures  and 


32  WIELAND;    OR, 

restrictions,  with  respect  to  the  conduct  of  others,  as  nry 
father.  The  character  of  my  mother  was  no  less  devout ; 
but  her  education  had  habituated  her  to  a  different  mode 
of  worship.  The  loneliness  of  their  dwelling  prevented  her 
from  joining  any  established  congregation;  but  she  was 
punctual  in  the  offices  of  prayer,  and  in  the  performance 
of  hymns  to  her  Saviour,  after  the  manner  of  the  disciples 
of  Zinzendorf.  My  father  refused  to  interfere  in  her 
arrangements.  His  own  system  was  embraced  not,  accu 
rately  speaking,  because  it  was  the  best,  but  because  it 
had  been  expressly  prescribed  to  him.  Other  modes,  if 
practised  by  other  persons,  might  be  equally  acceptable. 

His  deportment  to  others  was  full  of  charity  and  mild 
ness.  A  sadness^perpetually  overspread  his  features, 
but  was  unmihgle'd^Tth  steTTnrcs^or  discontent.  The  tones 
of  his  voice,  his  gestures,  his  steps,  were  all  in  tranquil 
uniform.  His  conduct  was  characterized  by  a  certain 
forbearance  and  humility,  which  secured  the  esteem  of 
those  to  whom  his  tenets  were  most  obnoxious.  They 
might  call  him  a  f ana/tic  and  a  dreamer,  but  they  could 
not  deny  their  veneration  to  his  invincible  candour  and 
invariable  integrity.  His  own  belief  of  rectitude  was 
the  foundation  of  his  happiness.  This,  however,  was 
destined  to  find  an  end. 

Suddenly  the  sadness  that  constantly  attended  him  was 
deepened.  Sighs,  and  even  tears,  sometimes  escaped  him. 
To  the  expostulations  of  his  wife  he  seldom  answered 
any  thing.  When  he  designed  to  be  communicative,  he 
hinted  that  his  peace  of  mind  was  flown,  in  consequence 
of  deviation  from  his  duty.  A  command  had  been  laid 
upon  him,  which  he  had  delayed  to  perform.  He  felt  as 
if  a  certain  period  of  hesitation  and  reluctance  had  been 
allowed  him,  but  that  this  period  was  passed.  He  was 
no  longer  permitted  to  obey.  The  duty  assigned  to  him 
was  transferred,  in  consequence  of  his  disobedience,  to 
another,  and  all  that  remained  was  to  endure  the  penalty. 

He  did  not  describe  this  penalty.  It  appeared  to  be 
nothing  more  for  some  time  than  a  sense  of  wrong.  This 
was  sufficiently  acute,  and  was  aggravated  by  the  belief 
that  his  offence  was  incapable  of  expiation.  No  one  could 
contemplate  the  agonies  which  he  seemed  to  suffer  with- 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  33 

out  the  deepest  compassion.  Time,  instead  of  lightening 
the  burden,  appeared  to  add  to  it.  At  length  he  hinted 
to  his  wife  that  his  end  was  near.  His  imagination  did 
not  prefigure  the  mode  or  the  time  of  his  decease,  but  was 
fraught  with  an  incurable  persuasion  that  his  death  was 
at  hand.  He  was  likewise  haunted  by  the  belief  that  the 
kind  of  death  that  awaited  him  was  strange  and  terrible. 
His  anticipations  were  thus  far  vague  and  indefinite ;  but 
they  sufficed  to  poison  every  moment  of  his  being  and 
devote  him  to  ceaseless  anguish. 
3 


CHAPTER  II. 

EARLY  in  the  morning  of  a  sultry  day  in  August  he 
left  Mettingen  to  go  to  the  city.  He  had  seldom  passed 
a  day  from  home  since  his  return  from  the  shores  of  the 
Ohio.  Some  urgent  engagements  at  this  time  existed, 
which  would  not  admit  of  further  delay.  He  returned  in 
the  evening,  but  appeared  to  be  greatly  oppressed  with 
fatigue.  His  silence  and  dejection  were  likewise  in  a 
more  than  ordinary  degree  conspicuous.  My  mother's 
brother,  whose  profession  was  that  of  a  surgeon,  chanced 
to  spend  this  night  at  our  house.  It  was  from  him  that 
I  have  frequently  received  an  exact  account  of  the 
mournful  catastrophe  that  followed. 

As  the  evening  advanced,  my  father's  inquietudes  in 
creased.  He  sat  with  his  family  as  usual,  but  took  no 
part  in  their  conversation.  He  appeared  fully  engrossed 
by  his  own  reflections.  Occasionally  his  countenance  ex 
hibited  tokens  of  alarm ;  he  gazed  steadfastly  and  wildly 
at  the  ceiling ;  and  the  exertions  of  his  companions  were 
scarcely  sufficient  to  interrupt  his  reverie.  On  recover 
ing  from  these  fits,  he  expressed  no  surprise,  but,  press 
ing  his  hand  to  his  head,  complained,  in  a  tremulous  and 
terrified  tone,  that  his  brain  was  scorched  to  cinders.  He 
would  then  betray  marks  of  insupportable  anxiety. 

My  uncle  perceived  by  his  pulse  that  he  was  indisposed, 
but  in  no  alarming  degree,  and  ascribed  appearances 
chiefly  to  the  workings  of  his  mind.  He  exhorted  him 
to  recollection  and  composure,  but  in  vain.  At  the  hour 
of  repose  he  readily  retired  to  his  chamber.  At  the  per 
suasion  of  my  mother  he  even  undressed  and  went  to  bed. 
Nothing  could  abate  his  restlessness.  He  checked  her 
tender  expostulations  with  some  sternness.  "Be  silent," 
34 


THE   TRANSFORMATION.  35 

said  he;  "for  that  which  I  feel  there  is  but  one  cure, 
and  that  will  shortly  come.  You  can  help  me  nothing. 
Look  to  your  own  condition,  and  pray  to  God  to 
strengthen  you  under  the  calamities  that  await  you." 
"What  am  I  to  fear?"  she  answered.  "What  terrible 
disaster  is  it  that  you  think  of?"  "Peace! — as  yet  I 
know  it  not  myself,  but  come  it  will,  and  shortly."  She 
repeated  her  inquiries  and  doubts ;  but  he  suddenly  put 
an  end  to  the  discourse,  by  a  stern  command  to  be  silent. 

She  had  never  before  known  him  in  this  mood.  Hither 
to  all  was  benign  in  his  deportment.  Her  heart  was 
pierced  with  sorrow  at  the  contemplation  of  this  change. 
She  was  utterly  unable  to  account  for  it,  or  to  figure  to 
herself  the  species  of  disaster  that  was  menaced. 

Contrary  to  custom,  the  lamp,  instead  of  being  placed 
on  the  hearth,  was  left  upon  the  table.  Over  it,  against 
the  wall,  there  hung  a  small  clock,  so  contrived  as  to 
strike  a  very  hard  stroke  at  the  end  of  every  sixth  hour. 
That  which  was  now  approaching  was  the  signal  for  re 
tiring  to  the  fane  at  which  he  addressed  his  devotions. 
Long  habit  had  occasioned  him  to  be  always  awake  at 
this  hour,  and  the  toll  was  instantly  obeyed. 

Now  frequent  and  anxious  glances  were  cast  at  the 
clock.  Not  a  single  movement  of  the  index  appeared  to 
escape  his  notice.  As  the  hour  verged  towards  twelve, 
his  anxiety  visibly  augmented.  The  trepidations  of  my 
mother  kept  pace  with  those  of  her  husband ;  but  she 
was  intimidated  into  silence.  All  that  was  left  to  her 
was  to  watch  every  change  of  his  features  and  give  vent 
to  her  sympathy  in  tears. 

At  length  the  hour  was  spent,  and  the  clock  tolled. 
The  sound  appeared  to  communicate  a  shock  to  every 
part  of  my  father's  frame.  He  rose  immediately,  and 
threw  over  himself  a  loose  gown.  Even  this  office  was 
performed  with  difficulty,  for  his  joints  trembled  and 
his  teeth  chattered  with  dismay.  At  this  hour  his  duty 
called  him  to  the  rock,  and  my  mother  naturally  con 
cluded  that  it  was  thither  he  intended  to  repair.  Yet 
these  incidents  were  so  uncommon  as  to  fill  her  with 
astonishment  and  foreboding.  She  saw  him  leave  the 
room,  and  heard  his  steps  as  they  hastily  descended  the 


36  WIELAND;    OR, 

stairs.  She  half  resolved  to  rise  and  pursue  him,  but 
the  wildness  of  the  scheme  quickly  suggested  itself.  He 
was  going  to  a  place  whither  no  power  on  earth  could 
induce  him  to  suifer  an  attendant. 

The  window  of  her  chamber  looked  towards  the  rock. 
The  atmosphere  was  clear  and  calm,  but  the  edifice  could 
not  be  discovered  at  that  distance  through  the  dusk.  My 
mother's  anxiety  would  not  allow  her  to  remain  where 
she  was.  She  rose,  and  seated  herself  at  the  window. 
She  strained  her  sight  to  get  a  view  of  the  dome,  and 
of  the  path  that  led  to  it.  The  first  painted  itself  with 
sufficient  distinctness  on  her  fancy,  but  was  undistin- 
guishable  by  the  eye  from  the  rocky  mass  on  which  it 
was  erected.  The  second  could  be  imperfectly  seen ;  but 
her  husband  had  already  passed,  or  had  taken  a  different 
direction. 

What  was  it  that  she  feared  ?  Some  disaster  impended 
over  her  husband  or  herself.  He  had  predicted  evils, 
but  professed  himself  ignorant  of  what  nature  they  were. 
When  were  they  to  come  ?  Was  this  night,  or  this  hour, 
to  witness  the  accomplishment  ?  She  was  tortured  with 
impatience  and  uncertainty.  All  her  fears  were  at  pre 
sent  linked  to  his  person,  and  she  gazed  at  the  clock, 
with  nearly  as  much  eagerness  as  my  father  had  done, 
in  expectation  of  the  next  hour. 

A  half  hour  passed  away  in  this  state  of  suspense. 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  rock ;  suddenly  it  was  illu 
minated.  A  light  proceeding  from  the  edifice  made 
every  part  of  the  scene  visible.  A  gleam  diffused  itself 
over  the  intermediate  space,  and  instantly  a  loud  report, 
like  the  explosion  of  a  mine,  followed.  She  uttered  an 
involuntary  shriek,  but  the  new  sounds  that  greeted  her 
ear  quickly  conquered  her  surprise.  They  were  piercing 
shrieks,  and  uttered  without  intermission.  The  gleams, 
which  had  diffused  themselves  far  and  wide,  were  in  a 
moment  withdrawn ;  but  the  interior  of  the  edifice  was 
filled  with  rays. 

The  first  suggestion  was  that  a  pistol  was  discharged, 
and  that  the  structure  was  on  fire.  She  did  not  allow 
herself  time  to  meditate  a  second  thought,  but  rushed 
into  the  entry  and  knocked  loudly  at  the  door  of  her 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  37 

brother's  chamber.  My  uncle  had  been  previously  roused 
by  the  noise,  and  instantly  flew  to  the  window.  He  also 
imagined  what  he  saw  to  be  fire.  The  loud  and  vehe 
ment  shrieks  which  succeeded  the  first  explosion  seemed 
to  be  an  invocation  of  succour.  The  incident  was  inex 
plicable  ;  but  he  could  not  fail  to  perceive  the  propriety 
of  hastening  to  the  spot.  He  was  unbolting  the  door, 
when  his  sister's  voice  was  heard  on  the  outside  conjuring 
him  to  come  forth. 

He  obeyed  the  summons  with  all  the  speed  in  his 
power.  He  stopped  not  to  question  her,  but  hurried 
down-stairs  and  across  the  meadow  which  lay  between 
the  house  and  the  rock.  The  shrieks  were  no  longer  to 
be  heard ;  but  a  blazing  light  was  clearly  discernible  be 
tween  the  columns  of  the  temple.  Irregular  steps,  hewn 
in  the  stone,  led  him  to  the  summit.  On  three  sides  this 
edifice  touched  the  very  verge  of  the  cliff.  On  the  fourth 
side,  which  might  be  regarded  as  the  front,  there  was  an 
area  of  small  extent,  to  which  the  rude  staircase  con 
ducted  you.  My  uncle  speedily  gained  this  spot.  His 
strength  was  for  a  moment  exhausted  by  his  haste.  He 
paused  to  rest  himself.  Meanwhile  he  bent  the  most 
vigilant  attention  towards  the  object  before  him. 

Within  the  columns  he  beheld  what  he  could  no  better 
describe  than  by  saying  that  it  resembled  a  cloud  im 
pregnated  with  light.  It  had  the  brightness  of  flame,  but 
was  without  its  upward  motion.  It  did  not  occupy  the 
whole  area,  and  rose  but  a  few  feet  above  the  floor.  No 
part  of  the  building  was  on  fire.  This  appearance  was 
astonishing.  He  approached  the  temple.  As  he  went 
forward  the  light  retired,  and,  when  he  put  his  feet 
within  the  apartment,  utterly  vanished.  The  sudden 
ness  of  this  transition  increased  the  darkness  that 
succeeded  in  a  tenfold  degree.  Fear  and  wonder  ren 
dered  him  powerless.  An  occurrence  like  this,  in  a 
place  assigned  to  devotion,  was  adapted  to  intimidate  the 
stoutest  heart. 

His  wandering  thoughts  were  recalled  by  the  groans  of 
one  near  him.  His  sight  gradually  recovered  its  power, 
and  he  was  able  to  discern  my  father  stretched  on  the 
floor.  At  that  moment  my  mother  and  servants  arrived, 


38  WIELAND;    OR, 

with  a  lantern,  and  enabled  my  uncle  to  examine  more 
closely  this  scene.  My  father,  when  he  left  the  house, 
besides  a  loose  upper  vest  and  slippers,  wore  a  shirt  and 
drawers.  Now  he  was  naked;  his  skin  throughout  the 
greater  part  of  his  body  was  scorched  and  bruised.  His 
right  arm  exhibited  marks  as  of  having  been  struck 
by  some  heavy  body.  His  clothes  had  been  removed, 
and  it  was  not  immediately  perceived  that  they  were 
reduced  to  ashes.  His  slippers  and  his  hair  were  un 
touched. 

He  was  removed  to  his  chamber,  and  the  requisite 
attention  paid  to  his  wounds,  which  gradually  became 
more  painful.  A  mortification  speedily  showed  itself  in 
the  arm,  which  had  been  most  hurt.  Soon  after,  the 
other  wounded  parts  exhibited  the  like  appearance. 

Immediately  subsequent  to  this  disaster,  my  father 
seemed  nearly  in  a  state  of  insensibility.  He  was  passive 
under  every  operation.  He  scarcely  opened  his  eyes,  and 
was  with  difficulty  prevailed  upon  to  answer  the  questions 
that  were  put  to  him.  By  his  imperfect  account,  it  ap 
peared,  that  while  engaged  in  silent  orisons,  with  thoughts 
full  of  confusion  and  anxiety,  a  faint  gleam  suddenly 
shot  athwart  the  apartment.  His  fancy  immediately 
pictured  to  itself  a  person  bearing  a  lamp.  It  seemed 
to  come  from  behind.  He  was  in  the  act  of  turning  to 
examine  the  visitant,  when  his  right  arm  received  a  blow 
from  a  heavy  club.  At  the  same  instant,  a  very  bright 
spark  was  seen  to  light  upon  his  clothes.  In  a  moment, 
the  whole  was  reduced  to  ashes.  This  was  the  sum  of 
the  information  which  he  chose  to  give.  There  was 
somewhat  in  his  manner  that  indicated  an  imperfect  tale. 
My  uncle  was  inclined  to  believe  that  half  the  truth  had 
been  suppressed. 

Meanwhile,  the  disease  thus  wonderfully  generated 
betrayed  more  terrible  symptoms?  Fever  and  delirium 
terminated  in  lethargic  slumber,  which,  in  the  course  of 
two  hours,  gave  place  to  death;  yet  not  till  insupport 
able  exhalations  and  crawling  putrefaction  had  driven 
from  his  chamber  and  the  house  every  one  whom  their 
duty  did  not  detain. 

Such  was  the  end  of  my  father.     None,  surely,  was 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  39 

ever  more  mysterious.  When  we  recollect  his  gloomy 
anticipations  and  unconquerable  anxiety,  the  security 
from  human  malice  which  his  character,  the  place,  and 
the  condition  of  the  times  might  be  supposed  to  confer, 
the  purity  and  cloudlessness  of  the  atmosphere,  which 
rendered  it  impossible  that  lightning  was  the  cause,  what 
are  the  conclusions  that  we  must  form  ? 

The  prelusive  gleam,  the  blow  upon  his  arm,  the  fatal 
spark,  the  explosion  heard  so  far,  the  fiery  cloud  that 
environed  him,  without  detriment  to  the  structure,  though 
composed  of  combustible  materials,  the  sudden  vanishing 
of  this  cloud  at  my  uncle's  approach : — what  is  the  in 
ference  to  be  drawn  from  these  facts?  Their  truth 
cannot  be  doubted.  My  uncle's  testimony  is  peculiarly 
worthy  of  credit,  because  no  man's  temper  is  more 
skeptical,  and  his  belief  is  unalterably  attached  to  natural 
causes.* 

I  was  at  this  time  a  child  of  six  years  of  age.  The 
impressions  that  were  then  made  upon  me  can  never  be 
efiaced.  I  was  ill  qualified  to  judge  respecting  what  was 
then  passing ;  but,  as  I  advanced  in  age  and  became  more 
fully  acquainted  with  these  facts,  they  oftener  became  the 
subject  of  my  thoughts.  Their  resemblance  to  recent 
events  revived  them  with  new  force  in  my  memory,  and 
made  me  more  anxious  to  explain  them.  Was  this  the 
penalty  of  disobedience  ?— this  the  stroke  of  a  vindictive 
and  invisible  hand?  Is  it  a  fresh  proof  that  the  Divine 
Ruler  interferes  in  human  affairs,  meditates  an  end,  selects 
and  commissions  his  agents,  and  enforces,  by  unequivocal 
sanctions,  submission  to  his  will  ?  Or  was  it  merely  the 
irregular  expansion  of  the  fluid  that  imparts  warmth  to 
our  heart  and  our  blood,  caused  by  the  fatigue  of  the 
preceding  day,  or  flowing,  by  establishedlaws,  from  jhe_ 

condition  of  his  thoughts." 

..—-—  — ~ "   -  

*  A  case  in  its  symptoms  exactly  parallel  to  this  is  published  in  one 
of  the  Journals  of  Florence.  See,  likewise,  similar  cases  reported  by 
Messrs.  Merrille  and  Muraire,  in  the  "Journal  de  Medicine"  for  Febru 
ary  and  May,  1783.  The  researches  of  Maffei  and  Fontana  have  thrown 
some  light  upon  this  subject. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  shock  which  this  disastrous  occurrence  occasioned 
to  my  mother  was  the  foundation  of  a  disease  which  carried 
her,  in  a  few  months,  to  the  grave.  My  brother  and  my 
self  were  children  at  this  time,  and  were  now  reduced  to 
the  condition  of  orphans.  The  property  which  our  parents 
left  was  by  no  means  inconsiderable.  It  was  intrusted 
to  faithful  hands  till  we  should  arrive  at  a  suitable  age. 
Meanwhile  our  education  was  assigned  to  a  maiden  aunt 
who  resided  in  the  city,  and  whose  tenderness  made  us  in 
a  short  time  cease  to  regret  that  we  had  lost  a  mother. 

The  years  that  succeeded  were  tranquil  and  happy. 
Our  lives  were  molested  by  few  of  those  cares  that  are 
incident  to  childhood.  By  accident  more  than  design, 
the  indulgence  and  yielding  temper  of  our  aunt  was 
mingled  with  resolution  and  steadfastness.  She  seldom 
deviated  into  either  extreme  of  rigour  or  lenity.  Our 
social  pleasures  were  subject  to  no  unreasonable  restraints. 
We  were  instructed  in  most  branches  of  useful  knowledge, 
and  were  saved  from  the  corruption  and  tyranny  of 
colleges  and  boarding-schools. 

Our  companions  were  chiefly  selected  from  the  children 
of  our  neighbours.  Between  one  of  these  and  my  brother 
there  quickly  grew  the  most  aifectionate  intimacy.  Her 
name  was  Catharine  Pleyel.  She  was  rich,  beautiful,  and 
contrived  to  blend  the  most  bewitching  softness  with  the 
most  exuberant  vivacity.  The  tie  by  which  my  brother 
and  she  were  united  seemed  to  add  force  to  the  love  which 
I  bore  her,  and  which  was  amply  returned.  Between  her 
and  myself  there  was  every  circumstance  tending  to  pro 
duce  and  foster  friendship.  Our  sex  and  age  were  the 
same.  We  lived  within  sight  of  each  other's  abode. 
40 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  41 

Our  tempers  were  remarkably  congenial,  and  the  super 
intendents  of  our  education  not  only  prescribed  to  us  the 
same  pursuits,  but  allowed  us  to  cultivate  them  together. 

Every  day  added  strength  to  the  triple  bonds  that 
united  us.  We  gradually  withdrew  ourselves  from  the 
society  of  others,  and  found  every  moment  irksome  that 
was  not  devoted  to  each  other.  My  brother's  advance  in 
age  made  no  change  in  our  situation.  It  was  determined 
that  his  profession  should  be  agriculture.  His  fortune 
exempted  him  from  the  necessity  of  personal  labour. 
The  task  to  be  performed  by  him  was  nothing  more  than 
superintendence.  The  skill  that  was  demanded  by  this 
was  merely  theoretical,  and  was  furnished  by  casual  in 
spection,  or  by  closet  study.  The  attention  that  was 
paid  to  this  subject  did  not  seclude  him  for  any  long  time 
from  us,  on  whom  time  had  no  other  effect  than  to  aug 
ment  our  impatience  in  the  absence  of  each  other  and  of 
him.  Our  tasks,  our  walks,  our  music,  were  seldom  per 
formed  but  in  each  other's  company. 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  Catharine  and  my  brother  were 
born  for  each  other.  The  passion  which  they  mutually 
entertained  quickly  broke  those  bounds  which  extreme 
youth  had  set  to  it ;  confessions  were  made  or  extorted, 
and  their  union  was  postponed  only  till  my  brother  had 
passed  his  minority.  The  previous  lapse  of  two  years 
was  constantly  and  usefully  employed. 

Oh,  my  brother !  But  the  task  I  have  set  myself  let 
me  perform  with  steadiness.  The  felicity  of  that  period 
was  marred  by  no  gloomy  anticipations.  The  future,  like 
the  present,  was  serene.  Timejvas  supposed  to  have  only- 
new  delights  in  store.  I  mean  not  to  dwell  on  previous 
incidents  longer  than  is  necessary  to  illustrate  or  explain 
the  great  events  that  have  since  happened.  The  nuptial 
day  at  length  arrived.  My  brother  took  possession  of 
the  house  in  which  he  was  born,  and  here  the  long-pro 
tracted  marriage  was  solemnized. 

My  father's  property  was  equally  divided  between  us. 
A  neat  dwelling,  situated  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  three- 
quarters  of  a  mile  from  my  brother's,  was  now  occupied 
by  me.  These  domains  were  called,  from  the  name  of 
the  first  possessor,  Mettingen.  I  can  scarcely  account 


42  WIELAND;    OR, 

for  my  refusing  to  take  up  iny  abode  with  him,  unless  it 
were  from  a  disposition  to  be  an  economist  of  pleasure. 
Self-denial,  seasonably  exercised,  is  one  means  of  en 
hancing  our  gratifications.  I  was,  besides,  desirous  of 
administering  a  fund  and  regulating  a  household  of  my 
own.  The  short  distance  allowed  us  to  exchange  visits 
as  often  as  we  pleased.  The  walk  from  one  mansion  to 
the  other  was  no  undelightful  prelude  to  our  interviews. 
I  was  sometimes  their  visitant,  and  they  as  frequently 
were  my  guests. 

Our  education  had  been  modelled  by  no  religious 
standard.  We  were  left  to  the  guidance  of  our  own  un 
derstanding  and  the  casual  impressions  which  society 
might  make  upon  us.  My  friends'  temper,  as  well  as 
my  own,  exempted  us  from  much  anxiety  on  this  account. 
It  must  not  be  supposed  that  we  were  without  religion ; 
but  with  us  it  was  the  product  of  lively  feelings,  excited 
by  reflection  on  our  own  happiness,  and  by  the  grandeur 
of  external  nature.  We  sought  not  a  basis  for  our 
faith  in  the  weighing  of  proofs  and  the  dissection  of 
creeds.  Our  devotion  was  a  mixed  and  casual  senti 
ment,  seldom  verbally  expressed,  or  solicitously  sought, 
or  carefully  retained.  In  the  midst  of  present  enjoy 
ment,  no  thought  was  bestowed  on  the  future.  As  a 
consolation  in  calamity,  religion  is  dear.  But  calamity 
was  yet  at  a  distance;  and  its  only  tendency  was  to 
heighten  enjoyments  which  needed  not  this  addition  to 
satisfy  every  craving. 

My  brother's  situation  was  somewhat  different.  His 
deportment  was  grave,  considerate,  and  thoughtful.  I 
will  not  say  whether  he  was  indebted  to  sublimer  views 
for  this  disposition.  Human  life,  in  his  opinion,  was 
made  up  of  changeable  elements,  and  the  principles  of 
duty  were  not  easily  unfolded.  The  future,  either  as 
anterior  or  subsequent  to  death,  was  a  scene  that  required 
some  preparation  and  provision  to  be  made  for  it.  These 
positions  we  could  not  deny ;  but  what  distinguished  him 
was  a  propensity  to  ruminate  on  these  truths.  The  images 
that  visited  us  were  blithesome  and  gay,  but  those  with 
which  he  was  most  familiar  were  of  an  opposite  hue. 
They  did  not  generate  affliction  and  fear,  but  they  dif- 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  43 

fused  over  his  behaviour  a  certain  air  of  forethought  and 
sobriety.  The  principal  effect  of  this  temper  was  visible 
in  his  features  and  tones.  These,  in  general,  bespoke  a 
sort  of  thrilling  melancholy.  I  scarcely  ever  knew  him 
t&J*ugh.  He  never  accompanied  the  lawless  mirth  of 
his  companions  with  more  than  a  smile,  but  his  conduct 
was  the  same  as  ours. 

He  partook  of  our  occupations  and  amusements  with 
a  zeal  not  less  than  ours,  but  of  a  different  kind.  The 
diversity  in  our  temper  was  never  the  parent  of  discord, 
and  was  scarcely  a  topic  of  regret.  The  scene  was  va 
riegated  but  not  tarnished  or  disordered  by  it.  It  hin 
dered  the  element  in  which  we  moved  from  stagnating?"" 
Some  agitation  and  concussion  is  requisite  to  the  due  ex 
ercise  of  human  understanding.  In  his  studies,  he  pur 
sued  an  austerer  and  more  arduous  path.  He  was  much 
conversant  with  the  history  of  religious  opinions,  and 
took  pains  to  ascertain  their  validity.  He  deemed  it  in 
dispensable  to  examine  the  ground  of  his  belief,  to  settle 
the  relation  between  motives  and  actions,  the  criterion 
of  merit,  and  the  kinds  and  properties  of  evidence. 

There  was  an  obvious  resemblance  between  him  and 
my  father  in  their  conceptions  of  the  importance  of  cer 
tain  topics,  and  in  the  light  in  which  the  vicissitudes  of 
human  life  were  accustomed  to  be  viewed.  ^Their  cha 
racters  were  similar ;  but  the  mind  of  the  son  was  en 
riched  by  science  and  embellished  with  literature./ 

The  temple  was  no  longer  assigned  to  its  ancient  use. 
From  an  Italian  adventurer,  who  erroneously  imagined 
that  he  could  find  employment  for  his  skill  and  sale  for 
his  sculptures  in  America,  my  brother  had  purchased  a 
bust  of  Cicero.  He  professed  to  have  copied  this  piece 
from  an  antique  dug  up  with  his  own  hands  in  the  envi 
rons  of  Modena.  Of  the  truth  of  his  assertions  we  were 
not  qualified  to  judge ;  but  the  marble  was  pure  and 
polished,  and  we  were  contented  to  admire  the  perform 
ance,  without  waiting  for  the  sanction  of  connoisseurs. 
We  hired  the  same  artist  to  hew  a  suitable  pedestal  from 
a  neighbouring  quarry.  This  was  placed  in  the  temple, 
and  the  bust  rested  upon  it.  Opposite  to  this  was  a  harp 
sichord,  sheltered  by  a  temporary  roof  from  the  weather. 


44  WIELAND;    OR, 

This  was  the  place  of  resort  in  the  evenings  of  summer. 
Here  we  sung,  and  talked,  and  read,  and  occasionally 
banqueted.  Every  joyous  and  tender  scene  most  dear  to 
my  memory  is  connected  with  this  edifice.  Here  the 
performances  of  our  musical  and  poetical  ancestors  were 
rehearsed.  Here  my  brother's  children  received  the  rudi 
ments  of  their  education ;  here  a  thousand  conversations, 
jpregnant  with  delight  and  improvement,  took  place ;  and 
[here  the  social  affections  were  accustomed  to  expand,  and 
!the  tear  of  delicious  sympathy  to  be  shed. 

My  brother  was  an  indefatigable  student.  The  authors 
whom  he  read  were  numerous ;  but  the  chief  object  of 
his  veneration  was  Cicero.  He  was  never  tired  of  con 
ning  and  rehearsing  his  productions.  [To  understand 
them  was  not  sufficient.  He  was  anxious  to  discover  the 
gestures  and  cadences  with  winch  they  ought  to  be  de- 
liveredJ  He  was  very  scrupulous  in  selecting  a  true 
scheme  of  pronunciation  for  the  Latin  tongue,  and  in 
adapting  it  to  the  words  of  his  darling  writer.  His  fa 
vourite  occupation  consisted  in  embellishing  his  rhetoric 
with  all  the  proprieties  of  gesticulation  and  utterance. 

Not  contented  with  this,  he  was  diligent  in  settling  and 
restoring  the  purity  of  the  text.  For  this  end,  he  collected 
all  the  editions  and  commentaries  that  could  be  pro 
cured,  and  employed  months  of  severe  study  in  exploring 
and  comparing  them.  He  never  betrayed  more  satisfac 
tion  than  when  he  made  a  discovery  of  this  kind. 

It  was  not  till  the  addition  of  Henry  Pleyel,  my 
friend's  only  brother,  to  our  society,  that  his  passion  for 
Roman  eloquence  was  countenanced  and  fostered  by  a 
sympathy  of  tastes.  This  young  man  had  been  some 
years  in  Europe.  We  had  separated  at  a  very  early  age, 
and  he  was  now  returned  to  spend  the  remainder  of  his 
days  among  us. 

Our  circle  was  greatly  enlivened  by  the  accession  of  a 
new  member.  His  conversation  abounded  with  novelty. 
His  gayety  was  almost  boisterous,  but  was  capable  of 
yielding  to  a  grave  deportment  when  the  occasion  re 
quired  it.  His  discernment  was  acute ;  but  he  was  prone 
to  view  every  object  merely  as  supplying  materials  for 
mirth.  His  conceptions  were  ardent  but  ludicrous,  and 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  45 

his  memory,  aided,  as  he  honestly  acknowledged,  by  his 
invention,  was  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  entertainment. 

His  residence  was  at  the  same  distance  below  the  city 
as  ours  was  above,  but  there  seldom  passed  a  day  with 
out  our  being  favoured  with  a  visit.     My  brother  and  he 
were  endowed  with  the  same  attachment  to  the  Latin 
writers ;   and  Pleyel  was  not  behind  his  friend  in  his 
knowledge  of  the  history  and  metaphysics  of  religion. 
3Hieir  creeds,  however,  were  in  many  respects  opposite. 
Where  one  discovered  only  confirmations  of  his  faith, 
;he  other  could  find  nothing  but  reasons  for  doubt.   Moral 
lecessity  and  Calvinistic  inspiration  were  the  props  on 
vhich  my  brother  thought  proper  to  repose.    Pleyel  was 
;he  champion  of  intellectual  liberty,  and  rejected  all 
guidance  but  that  of  his  reason.     Their  discussions  were 
requent,  but,  being  managed  with  candour  as  well  as 
with  skill,  they  were  always  listened  to  by  us  with  avidity 
and  benefit. 

Pleyel,  like  his  new  friends,  was  fond  of  music  and 
poetry.  Henceforth  our  concerts  consisted  of  two  vio 
lins,  a  harpsichord,  and  three  voices.  We  were  frequently 
reminded  how  much  happiness  depends  upon  society. 
This  new  friend,  though  before  his  arrival  we  were  sen 
sible  of  no  vacuity,  could  not  now  be  spared.  His  de 
parture  would  occasion  a  void  which  nothing  could  fill, 
and  which  would  produce  insupportable  regret.  Even 
my  brother,  though  his  opinions  were  hourly  assailed, 
and  even  the  divinity  of  Cicero  contested,  was  captivated 
with  his  friend,  and  laid  aside  some  part  of  his  ancient 
gravity  at  Pleyel's  approach. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Six  years  of  uninterrupted  happiness  had  rolled  away 
since  my  brother's  marriage.  The  sound  of  war  had 
)T)een  heard,  but  it  was  at  such  a  distance  as  to  enhance 
Lour  enjoyment  by  affording  objects  of  comparison.  The 
Indians  were  repulsed  on  the  one  side,  and  Canada  was 
conquered  on  the  other.  Revolutions  and  battles,  how 
ever  calamitous  to  those  who  occupied  the  scene,  contri 
buted  in  some  sort  to  our  happiness,  by  agitating  our 
minds  with  curiosity  and  furnishing  causes  of  patriotic 
exultation.  Four  children,  three  of  whom  were  of  an  age 
to  compensate,  by  their  personal  and  mental  progress, 
the  cares  of  which  they  had  been,  at  a  more  helpless  age, 
the  objects,  exercised  my  brother's  tenderness.  The 
fourth  was  a  charming  babe  that  promised  to  display  the 
image  of  her  mother,  and  enjoyed  perfect  health.  To 
these  were  added  a  sweet  girl  fourteen  years  old,  who  was 
loved  by  all  of  us  with  an  affection  more  than  parental. 

Her  mother's  story  was  a  mournful  one.  She  had  come 
hither  from  England  when  this  child  was  an  infant,  alone, 
without  friends,  and  without  money.  She  appeared  to 
have  embarked  in  a  hasty  and  clandestine  manner.  She 
passed  three  years  of  solitude  and  anguish  under  my 
aunt's  protection,  and  died  a  martyr  to  woe  the  source  of 
which  she  could  by  no  importunities  be  prevailed  upon  to 
unfold.  Her  education  and  manners  bespoke  her  to  be 
of  no  mean  birth.  Her  last  moments  were  rendered 
serene  by  the  assurances  she  received  from  my  aunt  that 
her  daughter  should  experience  the  same  protection  that 
had  been  extended  to  herself. 

On  my  brother's  marriage  it  was  agreed  that  she 
should  make  a  part  of  his  family.  I  cannot  do  justice 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  47 

to  the  attractions  of  this  girl.  Perhaps  the  tenderness 
she  excited  might  partly  originate  in  her  personal  re 
semblance  to  her  mother,  whose  character  and  misfortunes 
•were  still  fresh  in  our  remembrance.  She  was  habitually 
pensive,  and  this  circumstance  tended  to  remind  the 
spectator  of  her  friendless  condition ;  and  yet  that  epi 
thet  was  surely  misapplied  in  this  case.  This  being  was 
cherished  with  unspeakable  fondness  by  those  with  whom 
she  now  resided.  Every  exertion  was  made  to  enlarge 
and  improve  her  mind.  Her  safety  was  the  object  of  a 
solicitude  that  almost  exceeded  the  bounds  of  discretion. 
Our  affection,  indeed,  could  scarcely  transcend  her  merits. 
She  never  met  my  eye  or  occurred  to  my  reflections 
without  exciting  a  kind  of  enthusiasm.  Her  softness, 
her  intelligence,  her  equanimity,  never  shall  I  see  sur 
passed.  I  have  often  shed  tears  of  pleasure  at  her 
approach  and  pressed  her  to  my  bosom  in  an  agony  of 
fondness. 

While  every  day  was  adding  to  the  charms  of  her  person 
and  the  stores  of  her  mind,  there  occurred  an  event  which 
threatened  to  deprive  us  of  her.  An  officer  of  some 
rank,  who  had  been  disabled  by  a  wound  at  Quebec,  had 
employed  himself,  since  the  ratification  of  peace,  in  travel 
ling  through  the  colonies.  He  remained  a  considerable 
period  at  Philadelphia,  but  was  at  last  preparing  for  his 
departure.  No  one  had  been  more  frequently  honoured 
with  his  visits  than  Mrs.  Baynton,  a  worthy  lady  with 
whom  our  family  were  intimate.  He  went  to  her  house 
with  a  view  to  perform  a  farewell  visit,  and  was  on  the 
point  of  taking  his  leave  when  I  and  my  young  friend 
entered  the  apartment.  It  is  impossible  to  describe 
the  emotions  of  the  stranger  when  he  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  my  companion.  He  was  motionless  with  surprise. 
lie  was  unable  to  conceal  his  feelings,  but  sat  silently 
gazing  at  the  spectacle  before  him.  At  length  he  turned 
to  Mrs.  Baynton,  and,  more  by  his  looks  and  gestures 
than  by  words,  besought  her  for  an  explanation  of  the 
scene.  He  seized  the  hand  of  the  girl,  who,  in  her  turn, 
was  surprised  by  his  behaviour,  and,  drawing  her  forward, 
said,  in  an  eager  and  faltering  tone,  "  Who  is  she  ?  whence 
does  she  come?  what  is  her  name?" 


48  WIELAND;    OR, 

The  answers  that  were  given  only  increased  the  con 
fusion  of  his  thoughts.  He  was  successively  told  that  she 
was  the  daughter  of  one  whose  name  was  Louisa  Conway, 
who  arrived  among  us  at  such  a  time,  who  sedulously  con 
cealed  her  parentage  and  the  motives  of  her  flight,  whose 
incurable  griefs  had  finally  destroyed  her,  and  who  had  left 
this  child  under  the  protection  of  her  friends.  Having 
heard  the  tale,  he  melted  into  tears,  eagerly  clasped  the 
young  lady  in  his  arms,  and  called  himself  her  father. 
When  the  tumults  excited  in  his  breast  by  this  unlooked- 
for  meeting  were  somewhat  subsided,  he  gratified  our 
curiosity  by  relating  the  following  incidents : — 

"  Miss  Conway  was  the  only  daughter  of  a  banker  in 
London,  who  discharged  towards  her  every  duty  of  an 
affectionate  father.  He  had  chanced  to  fall  into  her 
company,  had  been  subdued  by  her  attractions,  had 
tendered  her  his  hand,  and  been  joyfully  accepted  both 
by  parent  and  child.  His  wife  had  given  him  every 
proof  of  the  fondest  attachment.  Her  father,  who  pos 
sessed  immense  wealth,  treated  him  with  distinguished 
respect,  liberally  supplied  his  wants,  and  had  made  one 
condition  of  his  consent  to  their  union  a  resolution  to 
take  up  their  abode  with  him. 

"They  had  passed  three  years  of  conjugal  felicity, 
which  had  been  augmented  by  the  birth  of  this  child, 
when  his  professional  duty  called  him  into  Germany.  It 
was  not  without  an  arduous  struggle  that  she  was  per 
suaded  to  relinquish  the  design  of  accompanying  him 
through  all  the  toils  and  perils  of  war.  No  parting 
was  ever  more  distressful.  They  strove  to  alleviate,  by 
frequent  letters,  the  evils  of  their  lot.  Those  of  his 
wife  breathed  nothing  but  anxiety  for  his  safety  and  im 
patience  of  his  absence.  At  length  a  new  arrangement 
was  made,  and  he  was  obliged  to  repair  from  Westphalia 
to  Canada.  One  advantage  attended  this  change:  it 
afforded  him  an  opportunity  of  meeting  his  family.  His 
wife  anticipated  this  interview  with  no  less  rapture  than 
himself.  He  hurried  to  London,  and,  the  moment  he 
alighted  from  the  stage-coach,  ran  with  all  speed  to 
Mr.  Conway's  house. 

"It  was  a  house  of  mourning.     His  father  was  over- 


7777i    TRANSFORMATION.  49 

whelmed  with  grief  and  incapable  of  answering  his  in 
quiries.  The  servants,  sorrowful  and  mute,  were  equally 
refractory.  He  explored  the  house,  and  called  on  the 
names  of  his  wife  and  daughter;  but  his  summons  were 
fruitless.  At  length  this  new  disaster  was  explained. 
Two  days  before  his  arrival,  his  wife's  chamber  was  found 
empty.  No  search,  however  diligent  and  anxious,  could 
trace  her  steps.  No  cause  could  be  assigned  for  her  dis 
appearance.  The  mother  and  child  had  fled  away  together. 

"New  exertions  were  made ;  her  chamber  and  cabinets 
were  ransacked;  but  no  vestige  was  found  serving  to 
inform  them  as  to  the  motives  of  her  flight,  whether  it  had 
been  voluntary  or  otherwise,  and  in  what  corner  of  the 
kingdom  or  of  the  world  she  was  concealed.  Who  shall 
describe  the  sorrow  and  amazement  of  the  husband, — his 
restlessness,  his  vicissitudes  of  hope  and  fear,  and  his 
ultimate  despair  ?  His  duty  called  him  to  America.  He 
had  been  in  this  city,  and  had  frequently  passed  the  door 
of  the  house  in  which  his  wife  at  that  moment  resided. 
Her  father  had  not  remitted  his  exertions  to  elucidate  this 
painful  mystery ;  but  they  had  failed.  This  disappoint 
ment  hastened  his  death ;  in  consequence  of  which  Louisa's 
father  became  possessor  of  his  immense  property." 

This  tale  was  a  copious  theme  of  speculation.  A 
thousand  questions  were  started  and  discussed  in  our 
domestic  circle  respecting  the  motives  that  influenced 
Mrs.  Stuart  to  abandon  her  country.  It  did  not  appear 
that  her  proceeding  was  involuntary.  We  recalled  and 
reviewed  every  particular  that  had  fallen  under  our  own 
observation.  By  none  of  these  were  we  furnished  with 
a  clue.  Her  conduct,  after  the  most  rigorous  scrutiny, 
still  remained  an  impenetrable  secret.  On  a  nearer  view, 
Major  Stuart  proved  himself  a  man  of  most  amiable 
character.  His  attachment  to  Louisa  appeared  hourly 
to  increase.  She  was  no  stranger  to  the  sentiments  suit 
able  to  her  new  character.  She  could  not  but  readily 
embrace  the  scheme  which  was  proposed  to  her, — to  re 
turn  with  her  father  to  England.  This  scheme  his  regard 
for  her  induced  him,  however,  to  postpone.  Some  time 
was  necessary  to  prepare  her  for  so  great  a  change  and 
4 


5O  WIELAND;    OR, 

enable  her  to  think  without  agony  of  her  separation 
from  us. 

I  was  not  without  hopes  of  prevailing  on  her  father 
entirely  to  relinquish  this  unwelcome  design.  Meanwhile, 
he  pursued  his  travels  through  the  southern  colonies,  and 
his  daughter  continued  with  us.  Louisa  and  my  brother 
frequently  received  letters  from  him  which  indicated  a 
mind  of  no  common  order.  They  were  filled  with  amusing 
details  and  profound  reflections.  While  here,  he  often 
partook  of  our  evening  conversations  at  the  temple ;  and 
since  his  departure  his  correspondence  had  frequently 
supplied  us  with  topics  of  discourse. 

One  afternoon  in  May,  the  blandness  of  the  air  and 
brightness  of  the  verdure  induced  us  to  assemble  earlier 
than  usual  in  the  temple.  We  females  were  busy  at  the 
needle,  while  my  brother  and  Pleyel  were  bandying 
quotations  and  syllogisms.  The  point  discussed  was  the 
merit  of  the  oration  for  Cluentius,  as  descriptive,  first, 
of  the  genius  of  the  speaker,  and,  secondly,  of  the  man 
ners  of  the  times.  Pleyel  laboured  to  extenuate  both 
these  species  of  merit,  and  tasked  his  ingenuity  to  show 
that  the  orator  had  embraced  a  bad  cause,  or,  at  least,  a 
doubtful  one.  He  urged  that  to  rely  on  the  exaggerations 
of  an  advocate,  or  to  make  the  picture  of  a  single  family 
a  model  from  which  to  sketch  the  condition  of  a  nation, 
was  absurd.  The  controversy  was  suddenly  diverted  into 
a  new  channel,  by  a  misquotation.  Pleyel  accused  his 
companion  of  saying  "pollwiatur"  when  he  should  have 
paid  "polliceretur."  Nothing  would  decide  the  contest 
but  an  appeal  to  the  volume.  My  brother  was  returning 
to  the  house  for  this  purpose,  when  a  servant  met  him 
with  a  letter  from  Major  Stuart.  He  immediately  re 
turned  to  read  it  in  our  .company. 

Besides  affectionate  compliments  to  us  and  paternal 
benedictions  on  Louisa,  his  letter  contained  a  description 
of  a  waterfall  on  the  Monongahela.  A  sudden  gust  of  rain 
falling,  we  were  compelled  to  remove  to  the  house.  The 
storm  passed  away,  and  a  radiant  moonlight  succeeded. 
There  was  no  motion  to  resume  our  seats  in  the  temple. 
We  therefore  remained  where  we  were,  and  engaged  in 
sprightly  conversation.  The  letter  lately  received  natu- 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  51 

rally  suggested  the  topic.  A  parallel  was  drawn  between 
the  cataract  there  described  and  one  which  Pleyel  had 
discovered  among  the  Alps  of  Glarus.  In  the  state  of 
the  former,  some  particular  was  mentioned  the  truth  of 
which  was  questionable.  To  settle  the  dispute  which 
thence  arose,  it  was  proposed  to  have  recourse  to  the 
letter.  My  brother  searched  for  it  in  his  pocket.  It  was 
nowhere  to  be  found.  At  length  he  remembered  to  have 
left  it  in  the  temple,  and  he  determined  to  go  in  search 
for  it.  His  wife,  Pleyel,  Louisa,  and  myself,  remained 
where  we  were. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  returned.  I  was  somewhat  inte 
rested  in  the  dispute,  and  was  therefore  impatient  for  his 
return ;  yet,  as  I  heard  him  ascending  the  stairs,  I  could 
not  but  remark  that  he  had  executed  his  intention  with 
remarkable  despatch.  My  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  on 
his  entrance.  Methought  he  brought  with  him  looks  con 
siderably  different  from  those  with  which  he  departed. 
Wonder  and  a  slight  portion  of  anxiety  were  mingled  in 
them.  His  eyes  seemed  to  be  in  search  of  some  object. 
They  passed  quickly  from  one  person  to  another,  till  they 
rested  on  his  wife.  She  was  seated  in  a  careless  attitude 
on  the  sofa,  in  the  same  spot  as  before.  She  had  the 
same  muslin  in  her  hand  by  which  her  attention  was 
chiefly  engrossed. 

The  moment  he  saw  her,  his  perplexity  visibly  in 
creased.  He  quietly  seated  himself,  and,  fixing  his  eyes 
on  the  floor,  appeared  to  be  absorbed  in  meditation. 
These  singularities  suspended  the  inquiry  which  I  was 
preparing  to  make  respecting  the  letter.  In  a  short  time, 
the  company  relinquished  the  subject  which  engaged 
them,  and  directed  their  attention  to  Wieland.  They 
thought  that  he  only  waited  for  a  pause  in  the  discourse 
to  produce  the  letter.  The  pause  was  uninterrupted  by 
him.  At  length  Pleyel  said,  "  Well,  I  suppose  you  have 
found  the  letter?" 

"No,"  said  he,  without  any  abatement  of  his  gravity, 
and  looking  steadfastly  at  his  wife ;  "I  did  not  mount  the 
hill." — "Why  not?" — "  Catharine,  have  you  not  moved 
from  that  spot  since  I  left  the  room?" — She  was  affected 
with  the  solemnity  of  his  manner,  and,  laying  down  her 


$2  WIELAND;    OR, 

work,  answered,  in  a  tone  of  surprise,  "  No.  Why  do 
you  ask  that  question?" — His  eyes  were  again  fixed  upon 
the  floor,  and  he  did  not  immediately  answer.  At  length 
he  said,  looking  round  upon  us,  "  Is  it  true  that  Catha 
rine  did  not  follow  me  to  the  hill  ? — that  she  did  not  just 
now  enter  the  room?"  We  assured  him,  with  one  voice, 
that  she  had  not  been  absent  for  a  moment,  and  inquired 
into  the  motive  of  his  questions. 

"Your  assurances,"  said  he,  "are  solemn  and  unani 
mous  ;  and  yet  I  must  deny  credit  to  your  assertions,  or 
disbelieve  the  testimony  of  my  senses,  which  informed 
me,  when  I  was  half-way  up  the  hill,  that  Catharine  was 
at  the  bottom." 

We  were  confounded  at  this  declaration.  Pleyel  ral 
lied  him  with  great  levity  on  his  behaviour.  He  listened 
to  his  friend  with  calmness,  but  without  any  relaxation 
of  features. 

"  One  thing,"  said  he,  with  emphasis,  "is  true:  either 
I  heard  my  wife's  voice  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  or  I  do 
not  hear  your  voice  at  present." 

"Truly,"  returned  Pleyel,  "it  is  a  sad  dilemma  to 
which  you  have  reduced  yourself.  Certain  it  is,  if  our 
eyes  can  give  us  certainty,  that  your  wife  has  been  sitting 
in  that  spot  during  every  moment  of  your  absence.  You 
have  heard  her  voice,  you  say,  upon  the  hill.  In  general, 
her  voice,  like  her  temper,  is  all  softness.  To  be  heard 
across  the  room,  she  is  obliged  to  exert  herself.  While 
you  were  gone,  if  I  mistake  not,  she  did  not  utter  a 
word.  Clara  and  I  had  all  the  talk  to  ourselves.  Still, 
it  may  be  that  she  held  a  whispering  conference  with  you 
on  the  hill;  but  tell  us  the  particulars." 

"The  conference,"  said  he,  "was  short,  and  far  from 
being  carried  on  in  a  whisper.  You  know  with  what  in 
tention  I  left  the  house.  Half-way  to  the  rock,  the  moon 
was  for  a  moment  hidden  from  us  by  a  cloud.  I  never 
knew  the  air  to  be  more  bland  and  more  calm.  In  this 
interval  I  glanced  at  the  temple,  and  thought  I  saw  a 
glimmering  between  the  columns.  It  was  so  faint  that 
it  would  not  perhaps  have  been  visible  if  the  moon  had 
not  been  shrouded.  I  looked  again,  but  saw  nothing.  I 
never  visit  this  building  alone,  or  at  night,  without  being 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  53 

reminded  of  the  fate  of  my  father.  There  was  nothing 
wonderful  in  this  appearance ;  yet  it  suggested  something 
more  than  mere  solitude  and  darkness  in  the  same  place 
would  have  done. 

"  I  kept  on  my  way.  The  images  that  haunted  me 
were  solemn;  and  I  entertained  an  imperfect  curiosity, 
but  no  fear,  as  to  the  nature  of  this  object.  I  had  as 
cended  the  hill  little  more  than  half  way,  when  a  voice 
called  me  from  behind.  The  accents  were  clear,  distinct, 
powerful,  and  were  uttered,  as  I  fully  believed,  by  my 
wife.  Her  voice  is  not  commonly  so  loud.  She  has  seldom 
occasion  to  exert  it ;  but,  nevertheless,  I  have  sometimes 
heard  her  call  with  force  and  eagerness.  If  my  ear  was 
not  deceived,  it  was  her  voice  which  I  heard : — 

" i  Stop !  go  no  farther.  There  is  danger  in  your  path.' 
The  suddenness  and  unexpectedness  of  this  warning,  the 
tone  of  alarm  with  which  it  was  given,  and,  above  all,  the 
persuasion  that  it  was  my  wife  who  spoke,  were  enough 
to  disconcert  and  make  me  pause.  I  turned,  and  listened 
to  assure  myself  that  I  was  not  mistaken.  The  deepest 
silence  succeeded.  At  length  I  spoke  in  my  turn: — 
'  Who  calls  ?  Is  it  you,  Catharine  ?'  I  stopped,  and  pre 
sently  received  an  answer  : — '  Yes,  it  is  I ;  go  not  up ; 
return  instantly;  you  are  wanted  at  the  house.'  Still 
the  voice  was  Catharine's,  and  still  it  proceeded  from  the 
foot  of  the  stairs. 

"V>7hat  could  I  do?  The  warning  was  mysterious.  To 
be  uttered  by  Catharine  at  a  place  and  on  an  occasion  like 
this  enhanced  the  mystery.  I  could  do  nothing  but  obey. 
Accordingly,  I  trod  back  my  steps,  expecting  that  she 
waited  for  me  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill.  When  I  reached 
the  bottom,  no  one  was  visible.  The  moonlight  was  once 
more  universal  and  brilliant,  and  yet,  as  far  as  I  could 
see,  no  human  or  moving  figure  was  discernible.  If  she 
had  returned  to  the  house,  she  must  have  used  wondrous 
expedition  to  have  passed  already  beyond  the  reach  of 
my  eye.  I  exerted  my  voice,  but  in  vain.  To  my  re 
peated  exclamations  no  answer  was  returned. 

"Ruminating  on  these  incidents,  I  returned  hither. 
There  was  no  room  to  doubt  that  I  had  heard  my  wife's 
voice ;  attending  incidents  were  not  easily  explained ;  but 


54  WIELAND;    OR, 

you  now  assure  me  that  nothing  extraordinary  has  hap 
pened  to  urge  my  return,  and  that  my  wife  has  not 
moved  from  her  seat." 

Such  was  my  brother's  narrative.  It  was  heard  by  us 
with  different  emotions.  Pleyel  did  not  scruple  to  regard 
the  whole  as  a  deception  of  the  senses.  Perhaps  a  voice 
had  been  heard ;  but  Wieland's  imagination  had  misled 
him  in  supposing  a  resemblance  to  that  of  his  wife  and 
giving  such  a  signification  to  the  sounds.  According  to 
his  custom,  he  spoke  what  he  thought.  Sometimes  he 
made  it  the  theme  of  grave  discussion,  but  more  fre 
quently  treated  it  with  ridicule.  He  did  not  believe  that 
sober  reasoning  would  convince  his  friend ;  and  gayety, 
he  thought,  was  useful  to  take  away  the  solemnities  which, 
in  a  mind  like  Wieland's,  an  accident  of  this  kind  was 
calculated  to  produce. 

Pleyel  proposed  to  go  in  search  of  the  letter.  He 
went,  and  speedily  returned,  bearing  it  in  his  hand.  He 
had  found  it  open  on  the  pedestal ;  and  neither  voice  nor 
visage  had  risen  to  impede  his  design. 

Catharine  was  endowed  with  an  uncommon  portion  of 
good  sense ;  but  her  mind  was  accessible,  on  this  quarter, 
to  wonder  and  panic.  That  her  voice  should  be  thus 
inexplicably  and  unwarrantably  assumed  was  a  source 
of  no  small  disquietude.  She  admitted  the  plausibility 
of  the  arguments  by  which  Pleyel  endeavoured  to  prove 
that  this  was  no  more  than  an  auricular  deception ;  but 
this  conviction  was  sure  to  be  shaken  when  she  turned  her 
eyes  upon  her  husband  and  perceived  that  Pleyel's  logic 
was  far  from  having  produced  the  same  effect  upon  him. 

As  to  myself,  my  attention  was  engaged  by  this  oc 
currence.  I  could  not  fail  to  perceive  a  shadowy  resem 
blance  between  it  and  my  father's  death.  On  the  latter 
event  I  had  frequently  reflected ;  my  reflections  never 
conducted  me  to  certainty,  but  the  doubts  that  existed 
were  not  of  a  tormenting  kind.  I  could  not  deny  that 
the  event  was  miraculous,  and  yet  I  was  invincibly  averse 
to  that  method  of  solution.  My  wonder  was  excited  by 
the  inscrutableness  of  the  cause,  but  my  wonder  was 
unmixed  with  sorrow  or  fear.  It  begat  in  me  a  thrilling 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  55 

and  not  unpleasing  solemnity.  Similar  to  these  were 
the  sensations  produced  by  the  recent  adventure. 

But  its  effect  upon  my  brother's^imagination  was  of 
chief  moment.  All  that  was  desirable  was  that  it  should 
be  regarded  by  him  with  indifference.  The  worst  effect 
that  could  flow  was  not  indeed  very  formidable.  Yet  I 
could  not  bear  to  think  that  his  senses  should  be  the 
victims  of  such  delusion.  It  argued  a  diseased  condi- 
^tion  of  his  franiepwhich  might  show  itself  hereafter  in 
more  dangerous  symptoms.  The  will  is  the  tool  of  the 
understanding,  which  must  fashion  its  conclusions  on  the 
notices  of  sense.  If  the_sens£s_Jbe  depraved,  it  is  im 
possible  to  calculate  the  evills  that  may  flow  from  the 
consequent  deductions  of  ^thej>understajidmg. 

I  said,  This  man  is  of  an  ardent  and  melancholy  cha 
racter.  Those  ideas  which,  in  others,^are~~casual  or 
obscure,  which  are  entertained  in  moments  of  abstraction 
and  solitude  and  easily  escape  when  the  scene  is  changed, 
have  obtained  an  immovable  hold  upon  his  mind.  The 
conclusions  which  long  habit  have  rendered  familiar  and, 
in  some  sort,  palpable  to  his  intellect,  are  drawn  from 
the  deepest  sources.  All  his  actions  and  practical  senti- 
mejnts  are  linked  with  long  and  abstruse  deductions  from 
tEe  system  of  divine  government  and  the  laws  of  our 
Intellectual  constitution.  He  is  in  some  respects  an 
enthusiast,  but  Is  fortified  in  his  belief  by  innumerable 
arguments  and  subtleties. 

His  father's  death' was"  always  regarded  by  him  as 
flowing  from  a  direct  and  supernatural  decree.  It  visited 
his  meditations  oftener  than  it  did  mine.  The  traces 
which  it  left  were  more  gloomy  and  permanent.  This 
new  incident  had  a  visible  effect  in  augmenting  his 
gravity.  He  was  less  disposed  than  formerly  to  con 
verse  and  reading.  When  we  sifted  his  thoughts,  they 
were  generally  found  to  have  a  relation  more  or  less 
direct  with  this  incident.  It  was  difficult  to  ascertain 
the  exact  species  of  impression  which  it  made  upon  him. 
He  never  introduced  the  subject  into  conversation,  and 
listened  with  a  silent  and  half-serious  smile  to  the  satiri 
cal  effusions  of  Pleyel. 

One  evening  we  chanced  to  be  alone  together  in  the 


56  WIELAND;    OR, 

temple.  I  seized  that  opportunity  of  investigating  the 
state  of  his  thoughts.  After  a  pause,  which  he  seemed 
in  no  wise  inclined  to  interrupt,  I  spoke  to  him : — "  How 
almost  palpable  is  this  dark !  yet  a  ray  from  above  would 
dispel  it."  "Ay,"  said  Wicland,  with  fervour;  "not 
only  the  physical  but  moral  night  would  be  dispelled." 
/"But  why,"  said  I,  "must  the  divine  will  address  its 
I  precepts  to  the  eye  ?"  He  smiled  significantly.  "  True," 
[  said  he  ;  "the  understanding  has  other  avenues."  "You 
have  never,"  said  I,  approaching  nearer  to  the  point,—- 
"you  have  never  told  me  in  what  way  you  considered 
the  late  extraordinary  incident."  "There  is  no  de 
terminate  way  in  which  the  subject  can  be  viewed.  Here 
is  an  effect;  but  the  cause  is  utterly  inscrutable.  To 
suppose  a  deception  will  not  do.  Such  is  possible,  but 
there  are  twenty  other  suppositions  more  probable. 
They  must  all  be  set  aside  before  we  reach  that  point." 
"  What  are  these  twenty  suppositions  ?"  "  It  is  needless 
to  mention  them.  They  are  only  less  improbable  than 
Pleyel's.  Time  may  convert  one  of  them  into  certainty. 
Till  then,  it  is  useless  to  expatiate  on  them." 


CHAPTER  V. 

SOME  time  had  elapsed  when  there  happened  another 
occurrence,  still  more  remarkable.  Pleyel,  on  his  return 
from  Europe,  brought  information  of  considerable  im 
portance  to  my  brother.  My  ancestors  were  noble 
Saxons,  and  possessed  large  domains  in  Lusatia.  The 
Prussian  wars  had  destroyed  those  persons  whose  right 
to  these  estates  precluded  my  brother's.  Pleyel  had 
been  exact  in  his  inquiries,  and  had  discovered  that,  by 
the  law  of  male-primogeniture,  my  brother's  claims  were 
superior  to  those  of  any  other  person  now  living.  No 
thing  was  wanting  but  his  presence  in  that  country,  and 
a  legal  application,  to  establish  this  claim. 

Pleyel  strenuously  recommended  this  measure.  The 
advantages  he  thought  attending  it  were  numerous,  and 
it  would  argue  the  utmost  folly  to  neglect  them.  Con 
trary  to  his  expectation,  he  found  my  brother  averse  to 
the  scheme.  Slight  efforts,  he  at  first  thought,  would 
subdue  his  reluctance ;  but  he  found  this  aversion  by  no 
means  slight.  The  interest  that  he  took  in  the  happi 
ness  of  his  friend  and  his  sister,  and  his  own  partiality  to 
the  Saxon  soil,  from  which  he  had  likewise  sprung,  and 
where  he  had  spent  several  years  of  his  youth,  made  him 
redouble  his  exertions  to  win  Wieland's  consent.  For 
this  end  he  employed  every  argument  that  his  invention 
could  suggest.  He  painted,  in  attractive  colours,  the 
state  of  manners  and  government  in  that  country,  the 
securffy  oTcivil  rights,  and  the  freedom  of  religious  senti 
ments.  He  dwelt  on  the  privileges  of  wealth  and  rank, 
and  drew  from  the  servile  condition  of  one  class  an  argu- 

57 


58  WIELAND;    OR, 

ment  in  favour  of  his  scheme,  since  the  revenue  and 
power  annexed  to  a  German  principality  afford  so  large 
a  field  for  benevolence.  The  evil  flowing  from  this 
power,  in  malignant  hands,  was  proportioned  to  the  good 
that  would  arise  from  the  virtuous  use  of  it.  Hence, 
Wieland,  in  forbearing  to  claim  his  own,  withheld  all  the 
positive  felicity  that  would  accrue  to  his  vassals  from  his 
success,  and  hazarded  all  the  misery  that  would  redound 
from  a  less  enlightened  proprietor. 

It  was  easy  for  my  brother  to  repel  these  arguments, 
and  to  show  that  no  spot  on  the  globe  enjoyed  equal 
security  and  liberty  to  that  which  he  at  present  in 
habited  : — that,  if  the  Saxons  had  nothing  to  fear  from 
misgovernment,  the  external  causes  of  havoc  and  alarm 
were  numerous  and  manifest.  The  recent  devastations 
committed  by  the  Prussians  furnished  a  specimen  of 
these.  The  horrors  of  war  would  always  impend  over 
them,  till  Germany  were  seized  and  divided  by  Austrian 
and  Prussian  tyrants ;  an  event  which  he  strongly  sus 
pected  was  at  no  great  distance.  But,  setting  these  con 
siderations  aside,  was  it  laudable  to  grasp  at  "wealth  and 
power  even  when  they  were  within  our  reach  ?  Were 
not  these  the  two  great  sources  of  depravity?  What 
security  had  he  that  in  this  change  of  place  and  con 
dition  he  should  not  degenerate  into  a  tyrant  and  volup 
tuary  ?  Power  and  riches  were  chiefly  to  be  dreaded  on 
account  of  their  tendency  to  deprave  the  possessor.  He 
held  them  in  abhorrence,  not  only  as  instruments  of 
misery  to  others,  but  to  him  on  whom  they  were  con 
ferred.  Besides,  riches  were  comparative ;  and  was  he 
not  rich  already  ?  He  lived  at  present  in  the  bosom  of 
security  and  luxury.  All  the  instruments  of  pleasure 
on  which  his  reason  or  imagination  set  any  value  were 
within  his  reach.  But  these  he  must  forego,  for  the  sake 
of  advantages  which,  whatever  were  their  value,  were  as 
yet  uncertain.  In  pursuit  of  an  imaginary  addition  to 
his  wealth,  he  must  reduce  himself  to  poverty ;  he  must 
exchange  present  certainties  for  what  was  distant  and 
contingent;  for  who  knows  not  that  the  law  is  a  system 
of  expense,  delay,  and  uncertainty  ?  If  he  should  em 
brace  this  scheme,  it  would  lay  him  under  the  necessity 


THE   TRANSFORMATION.  59 

of  making  a  voyage  to  Europe,  and  remaining  for  a 
certain  period  separate  from  his  family.  He  must 
undergo  the  perils  and  discomforts  of  the  ocean;  he 
must  divest  himself  of  all  domestic  pleasures ;  he  must 
deprive  his  wife  of  her  companion,  and  his  children  of  a 
father  and  instructor :  and  all  for  what  ?  For  the  am 
biguous  advantages  which  overgrown  wealth  and  flagi 
tious  tyranny  have  to  bestow  ?  For  a  precarious  pos 
session  in  a  land  of  turbulence  and  war  ?  Advantages 
which  will  not  certainly  be  gained,  and  of  which  the  ac 
quisition,  if  it  were  sure,  is  necessarily  distant. 

Pleyel  was  enamoured  of  his  scheme  on  account  of  its 
intrinsic  benefits,  but  likewise  for  other  reasons.  His 
abode  at  Leipsic  made  that  country  appear  to  him  like 
home.  He  was  connected  with  this  place  by  many  social 
ties.  While  there,  he  had  not  escaped  the  amorous  con 
tagion.  But  the  lady,  though  her  heart  was  impressed 
in  his  favour,  was  compelled  to  bestow  her  hand  upon 
another.  Death  had  removed  this  impediment,  and  he 
was  now  invited  by  the  lady  herself  to  return.  This  he 
was  of  course  determined  to  do,  but  was  anxious  to  obtain 
the  company  of  Wieland :  he  could  not  bear  to  think  of 
an  eternal  separation  from  his  present  associates.  Their 
interest,  he  thought,  would  be  no  less  promoted  by  the 
change  than  his  own.  Hence  he  was  importunate  and 
indefatigable  in  his  arguments  and  solicitations. 

He  knew  that  he  could  not  hope  for  mine  or  his  sister's 
ready  concurrence  in  this  scheme.  Should  the  subject 
be  mentioned  to  us,  we  should  league  our  efforts  against 
him  and  strengthen  that  reluctance  in  Wieland  which 
already  was  sufficiently  difficult  to  conquer.  He  there 
fore  anxiously  concealed  from  us  his  purpose.  If  Wieland 
were  previously  enlisted  in  his  cause,  he  would  find  it  a 
less  difficult  task  to  overcome  our  aversion.  My  brother 
was  silent  on  this  subject,  because  he  believed  himself  in 
no  danger  of  changing  his  opinion,  and  he  was  willing  to 
save  us  from  any  uneasiness.  The  mere  mention  of  such 
a  scheme,  and  the  possibility  of  his  embracing  it,  he 
knew,  would  considerably  impair  our  tranquillity. 

One  day,  about  three  weeks  subsequent  to  the  myste 
rious  call,  it  was  agreed  that  the  family  should  be  my 


60  IVIELAND;    OR, 

guests.  Seldom  had  a  day  been  passed  by  us  of  more 
serene  enjoyment.  Pleyel  had  promised  us  his  company ; 
but  we  did  not  see  him  till  the  sun  had  nearly  declined. 
He  brought  with  him  a  countenance  that  betokened  dis 
appointment  and  vexation.  He  did  not  wait  for  our  in 
quiries,  but  immediately  explained  the  cause.  Two  days 
before  a  packet  had  arrived  from  Hamburg,  by  which  he 
had  flattered  himself  with  the  expectation  of  receiving 
letters;  but  no  letters  had  arrived.  I  never  saw  him 
so  much  subdued  by  an  untoward  event.  His  thoughts 
were  employed  in  accounting  for  the  silence  of  his  friends. 
He  was  seized  with  the  torments  of  jealousy,  and  suspected 
nothing  less  than  the  infidelity  of  her  to  whom  he  had 
devoted  his  heart.  The  silence  must  have  been  con 
certed.  Her  sickness,  or  absence,  or  death,  would  have 
increased  the  certainty  of  some  one's  having  written. 
No  supposition  could  be  formed  but  that  his  mistress  had 
grown  indifferent,  or  that  she  had  transferred  her  affections 
to  another.  The  miscarriage  of  a  letter  was  hardly 
within  the  reach  of  possibility.  From  Leipsic  to  Ham 
burg,  and  from  Hamburg  hither,  the  conveyance  was 
exposed  to  no  hazard. 

He  had  been  so  long  detained  in  America  chiefly  in 
consequence  of  Wieland's  aversion  to  the  scheme  which 
he  proposed.  He  now  became  more  impatient  than  ever 
to  return  to  Europe.  When  he  reflected  that  by  his 
delays  he  had  probably  forfeited  the  affections  of  his 
mistress,  his  sensations  amounted  to  agony.  -It  only  re 
mained  by  his  speedy  departure  to  repair,  if  possible,  or 
prevent,  so  intolerable  an  evil.  Already  he  had  half 
resolved  to  embark  in  this  very  ship,  which,  he  was  in 
formed,  would  set  out  in  a  few  weeks  on  her  return. 

Meanwhile  he  determined  to  make  a  new  attempt  to 
shake  the  resolution  of  Wieland.  The  evening  was  some 
what  advanced  when  he  invited  the  latter  to  walk  abroad 
with  him.  The  invitation  was  accepted,  and  they  left 
Catharine,  Louisa,  and  me,  to  amuse  ourselves  by  the 
best  means  in  our  power.  During  this  walk,  Pleyel  re 
newed  the  subject  that  was  nearest  his  heart.  He  re- 
urged  all  his  former  arguments  and  placed  them  in  more 
forcible  lights. 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  6 1 

They  promised  to  return  shortly ;  but  hour  after  hour 
passed,  and  they  made  not  their  appearance.  Engaged 
in  sprightly  conversation,  it  was  not  till  the  clock  struck 
twelve  that  we  were  reminded  of  the  lapse  of  time.  The 
absence  of  our  friends  excited  some  uneasy  apprehensions. 
We  were  expressing  our  fears,  and  comparing  our  con 
jectures  as  to  what  might  be  the  cause,  when  they  entered 
together.  There  were  indications  in  their  countenances 
that  struck  me  mute.  These  were  unnoticed  by  Catha 
rine,  who  was  eager  to  express  her  surprise  and  curiosity 
at  the  length  of  their  walk.  As  they  listened  to  her,  I 
remarked  that  their  surprise  was  not  less  than  ours. 
They  gazed  in  silence  on  each  other  and  on  her.  I 
watched  their  looks,  but  could  not  understand  the  emo 
tions  that  were  written  in  them. 

These  appearances  diverted  Catharine's  inquiries  into  a 
new  channel.  What  did  they  mean,  she  asked,  by  their 
silence,  and  by  their  thus  gazing  wildly  at  each  other 
and  at  her  ?  Pleyel  profited  by  this  hint,  and,  assuming 
an  air  of  indifference,  framed  some  trifling  excuse,  at  the 
same  time  darting  significant  glances  at  Wieland,  as  if  to 
caution  him  against  disclosing  the  truth.  My  brother  said 
nothing,  but  delivered  himself  up  to  meditation.  I  like 
wise  was  silent,  but  burned  with  impatience  to  fathom  this 
mystery.  Presently  my  brother,  and  his  wife,  and  Louisa, 
returned  home.  Pleyel  proposed,  of  his  own  accord,  to 
be  my  guest  for  the  night.  This  circumstance,  in  addi 
tion  to  those  which  preceded,  gave  new  edge  to  my  wonder. 

As  soon  as  we  were  left  alone,  Pleyel's  countenance 
assumed  an  air  of  seriousness,  and  even  consternation, 
which  I  had  never  before  beheld  in  him.  The  steps  with 
which  he  measured  the  floor  betokened  the  trouble  of  his 
thoughts.  My  inquiries  were  suspended  by  the  hope  that 
he  would  give  me  the  information  that  I  wanted  without 
the  importunity  of  questions.  I  waited  some  time,  but 
the  confusion  of  his  thoughts  appeared  in  no  degree  to 
abate.  At  length  I  mentioned  the  apprehensions  which 
their  unusual  absence  had  occasioned,  and  which  were 
increased  by  their  behaviour  since  their  return,  and 
solicited  an  explanation.  He  stopped  when  I  began  to 
speak,  and  looked  steadfastly  at  me.  When  I  had  done, 


62  WIELAND;    OR, 

he  said  to  me,  in  a  tone  which  faltered  through  the  vehe 
mence  of  his  emotions,  "  How  were  you  employed  during 
our  absence?"  "In  turning  over  the  Delia  Crusca  dic 
tionary  and  talking  on  different  subjects;  but  just  be 
fore  your  entrance  we  were  tormenting  ourselves  with 
omens  and  prognostics  relative  to  your  absence. ' '  * '  Catha 
rine  was  with  you  the  whole  time?"  "Yes."  "But  are 
Smsure?"  "Most  sure.  She  was  not  absent  a  moment." 
e  stood,  for  a  time,  as  if  to  assure  himself  of  my  sincerity. 
Then,  clenching  his  hands  and  wildly  lifting  them  above 
his  head,  "Lo,"  cried  he,  "I  have  news  to  tell  you.  The 
Baroness  de  Stolberg  is  dead!" 

This  was  her  whom  he  loved.  I  was  not  surprised  at 
the  agitation  which  he  betrayed.  "But  how  was  the 
information  procured  ?  How  was  the  truth  of  this  news 
connected  with  the  circumstance  of  Catharine's  remain 
ing  in  our  company?"  He  was  for  some  time  inattentive 
to  my  questions.  When  he  spoke,  it  seemed  merely  a 
continuation  of  the  reverie  into  which  he  had  been  plunged. 

"And  yet  it  might  be  a  mere  deception.  But  could 
both  of  us  in  that  case  have  been  deceived  ?  A  rare  and 
prodigious  coincidence!  Barely  not  impossible.  And 
yet,  if  the  accent  be  oracular,  Theresa  is  dead.  No,  no !" 
continued  he,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  in  a  tone 
half  broken  into  sobs,  "I  cannot  believe  it.  She  has  not 
written ;  but,  if  she  were  dead,  the  faithful  Bertrand  would 
have  given  me  the  earliest  information.  And  yet,  if  he 
knew  his  master,  he  must  have  easily  guessed  at  the  effect 
of  such  tidings.  In  pity  to  me  he  was  silent. 

"  Clara,  forgive  me ;  to  you  this  behaviour  is  mysterious. 
I  will  explain  as  well  as  I  am  able.  But  say  not  a  word 
to  Catharine.  Her  strength  of  mind  is  inferior  to  yours. 
She  will,  besides,  have  more  reason  to  be  startled.  She 
is  Wieland's  angel." 

Pleyel  proceeded  to  inform  me,  for  the  first  time,  of  the 
scheme  which  he  had  pressed  with  so  much  earnestness 
on  my  brother.  He  enumerated  the  objections  which 
had  been  made,  and  the  industry  with  which  he  had 
endeavoured  to  confute  them.  He  mentioned  the  effect 
upon  his  resolutions  produced  by  the  failure  of  a  letter. 
"During  our  late  walk,"  continued  he,  "I  introduced 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  63 

the  subject  that  was  nearest  my  heart.  I  reurged  all 
my  former  arguments,  and  placed  them  in  more  forcible 
lights.  Wieland  was  still  refractory.  He  expatiated  on 
the  perils  of  wealth  and  power,  on  the  sacredness  of  con 
jugal  and  parental  duties,  and  the  happiness  of  mediocrity. 

"No  wonder  that  the  time  passed  unperceived  away. 
Our  whole  souls  were  engaged  in  this  cause.  Several 
times  we  came  to  the  foot  of  the  rock :  as  soon  as  we 
perceived  it  we  changed  our  course,  but  never  failed  to 
terminate  our  circuitous  and  devious  ramble  at  this  spot. 
At  length  your  brother  observed,  '  We  seem  to  be  led 
hither  by  a  kind  of  fatality.  Since  we  are  so  near,  let 
us  ascend  and  rest  ourselves  a  while.  If  you  are  not 
weary  of  this  argument  we  will  resume  it  there.' 

"  I  tacitly  consented.  We  mounted  the  stairs,  and, 
drawing  the  sofa  in  front  of  the  river,  we  seated  ourselves 
upon  it.  I  took  up  the  thread  of  our  discourse  where  we 
had  dropped  it.  I  ridiculed  his  dread  of  the  sea,  and 
his  attachment  to  home.  I  kept  on  in  this  strain,  so  con 
genial  with  my  disposition,  for  some  time,  uninterrupted 
by  him.  At  length  he  said  to  me,  '  Suppose,  now,  that 
I,  whom  argument  has  not  convinced,  should  yield  to  ridi 
cule,  and  should  agree  that  your  scheme  is  eligible :  what 
will  you  have  gained  ?  Nothing.  You  have  other  ene 
mies  besides  myself  to  encounter.  When  you  have  van 
quished  me,  your  toil  has  scarcely  begun.  There  are  my 
sister  and  wife,  with  whom  it  will  remain  for  you  to  main 
tain  the  contest.  And,  trust  me,  they  are  adversaries 
whom  all  your  force  and  stratagem  will  never  subdue.' 
I  insinuated  that  they  would  model  themselves  by  his 
will ;  that  Catharine  would  think  obedience  her  duty. 
He  answered,  with  some  quickness, '  You  mistake.  Their 
concurrence  is  indispensable.  It  is  not  my  custom  to 
exact  sacrifices  of  this  kind.  I  live  to  be  their  protector 
and  friend,  and  not  their  tyrant  and  foe.  If  my  wife 
shall  deem  her  happiness  and  that  of  her  children  most 
consulted  by  remaining  where  she  is,  here  she  shall  re 
main.'  'But,'  said  I,  'when  she  knows  your  pleasure, 
will  she  not  conform  to  it  ?'  Before  my  friend  had  time 
to  answer  this  question,  a  negative  was  clearly  and  dis 
tinctly  uttered  from  another  quarter.  It  did  not  come 


64  WIELAND;    OR, 

from  one  side  or  the  other,  from  before  us  01  behind. 
Whence  then  did  it  come  ?  By  whose  organs  was  it 
fashioned  ? 

"  If  any  uncertainty  had  existed  with  regard  to  these 
particulars,  it  would  have  been  removed  by  a  deliberate 
and  equally-distinct  repetition  of  the  same  monosyllable, 
'  No.'  The  voice  was  my  sister's.  It  appeared  to  come 
from  the  roof.  I  started  from  my  seat.  i  Catharine,' 
exclaimed  I,  '  where  are  you?'  No  answer  was  returned. 
I  searched  the  room  and  the  area  before  it,  but  in  vain. 
Your  brother  was  motionless  in  his  seat.  I  returned  to 
him,  and  placed  myself  again  by  his  side.  My  astonish 
ment  was  not  less  than  his. 

'"  Well,'  said  he  at  length,  'what  think  you  of  this? 
This  is  the  selfsame  voice  which  I  formerly  heard :  you 
are  now  convinced  that  my  ears  were  well  informed.' 

" '  Yes,'  said  I,  '  this,  it  is  plain,  is  no  fiction  of  the 
fancy.'  We  again  sunk  into  mutual  and  thoughtful 
silence.  A  recollection  of  the  hour,  and  of  the  length  of 
our  absence,  made  me  at  last  propose  to  return.  We  rose 
up  for  this  purpose.  In  doing  this,  my  mind  reverted  to 
the  contemplation  of  my  own  condition.  'Yes,'  said  I, 
aloud,  but  without  particularly  addressing  myself  to  Wie- 
land,  '  niy  resolution  is  taken.  I  cannot  hope  to  prevail 
with  my  friends  to  accompany  me.  They  may  doze  away 
their  days  on  the  banks  of  Schuylkill ;  but,  as  to  me,  I 
go  in  the  next  vessel ;  I  will  fly  to  her  presence  and  de 
mand  the  reason  of  this  extraordinary  silence.' 

"  I  had  scarcely  finished  the  sentence,  when  the  same 
mysterious  voice  exclaimed, '  You  shall  not  go.  The  seal 
of  death  is  on  her  lips.  Her  silence  is  the  silence  of  the 
tomb.'  Think  of  the  effects  which  accents  like  these 
must  have  had  upon  me.  I  shuddered  as  I  listened.  As 
soon  as  I  recovered  from  my  first  amazement, '  Who  is  it 
that  speaks?'  said  I;  'whence  did  you  procure  these 
dismal  tidings?'  I  did  not  wait  long  for  an  answer. 
'  From  a  source  that  cannot  fail.  Be  satisfied.  She  is 
dead.'  You  may  justly  be  surprised  that,  in  the  circum 
stances  in  which  I  heard  the  tidings,  and  notwithstand 
ing  the  mystery  which  environed  him  by  whom  they  were 
imparted,  I  could  give  an  undivided  attention  to  the  facts 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  65 

which  were  the  subject  of  our  dialogue.  1  eagerly  in 
quired.  When  and  where  did  she  die  ?  What  was  the 
cause  of  her  death  ?  Was  her  death  absolutely  certain  ? 
An  answer  was  returned  only  to  the  last  of  these  ques 
tions  4Yes,'  was  pronounced  by  the  same  voice;  but  it 
now  sounded  from  a  greater  distance,  and  the  deepest 
silence  was  all  the  return  made  to  my  subsequent  inter 
rogatories. 

"  It  was  my  sister's  voice;  but  it  could  not  be  uttered 
by  her ;  and  yet,  if  not  by  her,  by  whom  was  it  uttered  ? 
When  we  returned  hither  and  discovered  you  together, 
the  doubt  that  had  previously  existed  was  removed.  It 
was  manifest  that  the  intimation  came  not  from  her. 
Yet,  if  not  from,  her,  from  whom  could  it  come  ?  Are 
the  circumstances  attending  the  imparting  of  this  news 
proof  that  the  tidings  are  true?  God  forbid  that  they 
should  be  true!" 

Here  Pleyel  sunk  into  anxious  silence,  and  gave  me 
leisure  to  ruminate  on  this  inexplicable  event.  I  am  at  a 
loss  to  describe  the  sensations  that  affected  me.  I  am  not 
fearful  of  shadows.  The  tales  of  apparitions  and  enchant 
ments  did  not  possess  that  power  over  my  belief  whicli 
could  even  render  them  interesting.  I  saw  nothing  in 
them  but  ignorance  and  folly,  and  was  a  stranger  even  to 
that  terror  which  is  pleasing.  But  this  incident  was  dif 
ferent  from  any  that  I  had  ever  before  known.  Here 
were  proofs  of  a  sensible  and  intelligent  existence,  which 
could  not  be  denied.  Here  was  information  obtained  and 
imparted  by  means  unquestionably  superhuman.  • 

That  there  are  conscious  beings  besides  ourselves  in 
existence,  whose  modes  of  activity  and  information  sur 
pass  our  own,  can  scarcely  be  denied.  Is  there  a  glimpse 
afforded  us  into  a  world  of  these  superior  beings  ?  My 
heart  was  scarcely  large  enough  to  give  admittance  to  so 
swelling  a  thought.  An  awe,  the  sweetest  and  most  so 
lemn  that  imagination  can  conceive,  pervaded  my  whole 
frame.  It  forsook  me  not  when  I  parted  from  Pleyel  and 
retired  to  my  chamber.  An  impulse  was  given  to  my 
spirits  utterly  incompatible  with  sleep.  I  passed  the  night 
wakeful  and  full  of  meditation.  I  was  impressed  with 
the  belief  of  mysterious  but  not  of  malignant  agency. 
5 


66  WIELAND;    OR, 

Hitherto  nothing  had  occurred  to  persuade  me  that  this 
airy  minister  was  busy  to  evil  rather  than  to  good  pur 
poses.  On  the  contrary,  the  idea  of  superior  virtue  had 
always  been  associated  in  my  mind  with  that  of  superior 
power.  The  warnings  that  had  thus  been  heard  appeared 
to  have  been  prompted  by  beneficent  intentions.  My 
brother  had  been  hindered  by  this  voice  from  ascending 
the  hill.  He  was  told  that  danger  lurked  in  his  path, 
and  his  obedience  to  the  intimation  had  perhaps  saved 
him  from  a  destiny  similar  to  that  of  my  father. 

Pleyel  had  been  rescued  from  tormenting  uncertainty, 
and  from  the  hazards  and  fatigues  of  a  fruitless  voyage, 
by  the  same  interposition.  It  had  assured  him  of  the 
death  of  his  Theresa. 

This  woman  was,  then,  dead.  A  confirmation  of  the 
tidings,  if  true,  would  speedily  arrive.  Was  this  con 
firmation  to  be  deprecated  or  desired  ?  By  her  death,  the 
tie  that  attached  him  to  Europe  was  taken  away.  Hence 
forward  every  motive  would  combine  to  retain  him  in  his 
native  country,  and  we  were  rescued  from  the  deep  re 
grets  that  would  accompany  his  hopeless  absence  from  us, 
Propitious  was  the  spirit  that  imparted  these  tidings. 
Propitious  he  would  perhaps  have  been,  if  he  had  been 
instrumental  in  producing  as  well  as  in  communicating 
the  tidings  of  her  death.  Propitious  to  us,  the  friends 
of  Pleyel,  to  whom  has  thereby  been  secured  the  enjoy 
ment  of  his  society;  and  not  unpropitious  to  himself; 
for,  though  this  object  of  his  love  be  snatched  away,  is 
there  not  another  who  is  able  and  willing  to  console  him 
for  her  loss  ? 

Twenty  days  after  this,  another  vessel  arrived  from  the 
same  port.  In  this  interval,  Pleyel  for  the  most  part 
estranged  himself  from  his  old  companions.  He  was  be 
come  the  prey  of  a  gloomy  and  unsociable  grief.  His 
walks  were  limited  to  the  bank  of  the  Delaware.  This 
bank  is  an  artificial  one.  Reeds  and  the  river  are  on 
one  side,  and  a  watery  marsh  on  the  other,  in  that  part 
which  bounded  his  lands,  and  which  extended  from  the 
mouth  of  Hollander's  Creek  to  that  of  Schuylkill.  No 
scene  can  be  imagined  less  enticing  to  a  lover  of  the  pic 
turesque  than  this.  The  shore  is  deformed  with  mud 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  6? 

and  encumbered  with  a  forest  of  reeds.  The  fields,  in 
most  seasons,  are  mire ;  but,  when  they  afford  a  firm  foot 
ing,  the  ditches  by  which  they  are  bounded  and  inter 
sected  are  mantled  with  stagnating  green,  and  emit  the 
most  noxious  exhalations.  Health  is  no  less  a  stranger 
to  those  seats  than  pleasure.  Spring  and  autumn  are 
sure  to  be  accompanied  with  agues  and  bilious  remittents. 

The  scenes  which  environed  our  dwellings  at  Mettingen 
constituted  the  reverse  of  this.  Schuylkill  was  here  a 
pure  and  translucid  current  broken  into  wild  and  cease 
less  music  by  rocky  points,  murmuring  on  a  sandy  mar 
gin,  and  reflecting  on  its  surface  banks  of  all  varieties 
of  height  and  degrees  of  declivity.  These  banks  were 
checkered  by  patches  of  dark  verdure  and  shapeless 
masses  of  white  marble,  and  crowned  by  copses  of  cedar, 
or  by  the  regular  magnificence  of  orchards,  which,  at 
this  season,  were  in  blossom,  and  were  prodigal  of  odours. 
The  ground  which  receded  from  the  river  was  scooped 
into  valleys  and  dales.  Its  beauties  were  enhanced  by 
the  horticultural  skill  of  my  brother,  who  bedecked  this 
exquisite  assemblage  of  slopes  and  risings  with  every 
species  of  vegetable  ornament,  from  the  giant  arms  of 
the  oak  to  the  clustering  tendrils  of  the  honeysuckle. 

To  screen  him  from  the  unwholesome  airs  of  his  own 
residence,  it  had  been  proposed  to  Pleyel  to  spend  the 
months  of  spring  with  us.  He  had  apparently  acqui 
esced  in  this  proposal :  but  the  late  event  induced  him 
to  change  his  purpose.  He  was  only  to  be  seen  by  visit 
ing  him  in  his  retirements.  His  gayety  had  flown,  and 
every  passion  was  absorbed  in  eagerness  to  procure  tid 
ings  from  Saxony.  I  have  mentioned  the  arrival  of  an 
other  vessel  from  the  Elbe.  He  descried  her  early  one 
morning  as  he  was  passing  along  the  skirt  of  the  river. 
She  was  easily  recognised,  being  the  ship  in  which  he 
had  performed  his  first  voyage  to  Germany.  He  im 
mediately  went  on  board,  but  found  no  letters  directed  to 
him.  This  omission  was  in  some  degree  compensated  by 
meeting  with  an  old  acquaintance  among  the  passengers, 
who  had  till  lately  been  a  resident  in  Lcipsic.  This  person 
put  an  end  to  all  suspense  respecting  the  fate  of  Theresa, 
by  relating  the  particulars  of  her  death  and  funeral. 


68  WIELAND;    OR, 

Thus  was  the  truth  of  the  former  intimation  attested. 
No  longer  devoured  by  suspense,  the  grief  of  Pleyel  was 
not  long  in  yielding  to  the  influence  of  society.  He  gave 
himself  up  once  more  to  our  company.  His  vivacity  had 
indeed  been  damped;  but  even  in  this  respect  he  was 
a  more  acceptable  companion  than  formerly,  since  his 
seriousness  was  neither  incommunicative  nor  sullen. 

These  incidents  for  a  time  occupied  all  our  thoughts. 
In  me  they  produced  a  sentiment  not  unallied  to  pleasure, 
and  more  speedily  than  in  the  case  of  my  friends  were  in 
termixed  with  other  topics.  My  brother  was  particularly 
affected  by  them.  It  was  easy  to  perceive  that  most  of  his 
meditations  were  tinctured  from  this  source.  To  this  was 
to  be  ascribed  a  design  in  which  his  pen  wTas  at  this  period 
engaged,  of  collecting  and  investigating  the  facts  which  re 
late  to  that  mysterious  personage,  the  Daemon  of  Socrates. 

My  brother's  skill  in  Greek  and  Roman  learning  was 
exceeded  by  that  of  few,  and  no  doubt  the  world  would 
have  accepted  a  treatise  upon  this  subject  from  his  hand 
with  avidity ;  but,  alas !  this  and  every  other  scheme  of 
felicity  and  honour  were  doomed  to  sudden  blast  and 
hopeless  extermination. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

I  NOW  come  to  the  mention  of  a  person  with  whose 
name  the  most  turbulent  sensations  are  connected.  It  is 
with  a  shuddering  reluctance  that  I  enter  on  the  province 
of  describing  him.  Now  it  is  that  I  begin  to  perceive 
the  difficulty  of  the  task  which  I  have  undertaken ;  but 
it  would  be  weakness  to  shrink  from  it.  My  blood  is 
congealed  and  my  fingers  are  palsied  when  I  call  up  his 
image.  Shame  upon  my  cowardly  and  infirm  heart! 
Hitherto  I  have  proceeded  with  some  degree  of  com 
posure  ;  but  now  I  must  pause.  I  mean  not  that  dire 
remembrance  shall  subdue  my  courage  or  baffle  my 
design;  but  this  weakness  cannot  be  immediately  con 
quered.  I  must  desist  for  a  little  while. 

I  have  taken  a  few  turns  in  my  chamber,  and  have 
gathered  strength  enough  to  proceed.  Yet  have  I  not 
projected  a  task  beyond  my  power  to  execute  ?  If  thus, 
on  the  very  threshold  of  the  scene,  my  knees  falter  and 
I  sink,  how  shall  I  support  myself  when  I  rush  into  the 
midst  of  horrors  such  as  no  heart  has  hitherto  conceived 
nor  tongue  related  ?  I  sicken  and  recoil  at  the  prospect ; 
and  yet  my  irresolution  is  momentary.  I  have  not  formed 
this  design  upon  slight  grounds ;  and,  though  I  may  at  times 
pause  and  hesitate,  I  will  not  be  finally  diverted  from  it. 

And  thou,  0  most  fatal  and  potent  of  mankind,  in  what 
terms  shall  I  describe  thee  ?  What  words  are  adequate 
to  the  just  delineation  of  thy  character?  How  shall  I 
detail  the  means  which  rendered  the  secrecy  of  thy  pur 
poses  unfathomable  ?  But  I  will  not  anticipate.  Let  me 
recover,  if  possible,  a  sober  strain.  Let  me  keep  down 
the  flood  of  passion  that  would  render  me  precipitate  or 
powerless.  Let  me  stifle  the  agonies  that  are  awakened 

69 


70  WIELAND;    OR, 

by  thy  name.  Let  me  for  a  time  regard  thee  as  a  being 
of  no  terrible  attributes.  Let  me  tear  myself  from  con 
templation  of  the  evils  of  which  it  is  but  too  certain  that 
thou  wast  the  author,  and  limit  my  view  to  those  harmless 
appearances  which  attended  thy  entrance  on  the  stage. 

One  sunny  afternoon  I  was  standing  in  the  door  of  my 
house,  when  I  marked  a  person  passing  close  to  the  edge 
of  the  bank  that  was  in  front.  His  pace  was  a  careless 
and  lingering  one,  and  had  none  of  that  gracefulness  and 
ease  which  distinguish  a  person  with  certain  advantages 
of  education  from  a  clown.  His  gait  was  rustic  and 
awkward.  His  form  was  ungainly  and  disproportioned. 
Shoulders  broad  and  square,  breast  sunken,  his  head 
drooping,  his  body  of  uniform  breadth,  supported  by 
long  and  lank  legs,  were  the  ingredients  of  his  frame. 
His  garb  was  not  ill  adapted  to  such  a  figure.  A  slouched 
hat,  tarnished  by  the  weather,  a  coat  of  thick  gray  cloth, 
cut  and  wrought,  as  it  seemed,  by  a  country  tailor,  blue 
worsted  stockings,  and  shoes  fastened  by  thongs  and 
deeply  discoloured  by  dust,  which  brush  had  never  dis 
turbed,  constituted  his  dress. 

There  was  nothing  remarkable  in  these  appearances : 
they  were  frequently  to  be  met  with  on  the  road  and  in 
the  harvest-field.  I  cannot  tell  why  I  gazed  upon  them, 
on  this  occasion,  with  more  than  ordinary  attention, 
unless  it  were  that  such  figures  w^ere  seldom  seen  by 
me  except  on  the  road  or  field.  This  lawn  was  only 
traversed  by  men  whose  views  were  directed  to  the  plea 
sures  of  the  walk  or  the  grandeur  of  the  scenery. 

He  passed  slowly  along,  frequently  pausing,  as  if  to 
examine  the  prospect  more  deliberately,  but  never  turning 
his  eye  towards  the  house,  so  as  to  allow  me  a  view  of  his 
countenance.  Presently  he  entered  a  copse  at  a  small 
distance,  and  disappeared.  My  eye  followed  him  while 
he  remained  in  sight.  If  his  image  remained  for  any 
duration  in  my  fancy  after  his  departure,  it  was  because 
no  other  object  occurred  sufficient  to  expel  it. 

I  continued  in  the  same  spot  for  half  an  hour,  vaguely, 
and  by  fits,  contemplating  the  image  of  this  wanderer, 
and  drawing  from  outward  appearances  those  inferences, 
with  respect  to  the  intellectual  history  of  this  person, 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  J\ 

which  experience  affords  HS.  I  reflected  on  the  alliance 
which  commonly  subsists  between  ignorance  and  the 
practice  of  agriculture,  and  indulged  myself  in  airy 
speculations  as  to  the  influence  of  progressive  knowledge 
in  dissolving  this  alliance  and  embodying  the  dreams  of 
the  poets.  I  asked  why  the  plough  and  the  hoe  might 
not  become  the  trade  of  every  human  being,  and  how 
this  trade  might  be  made  conducive  to,  or  at  least  con 
sistent  with,  the  acquisition  of  wisdom  and  eloquence. 

Weary  with  these  reflections,  I  returned  to  the  kitchen 
to  perform  some  householdrofnce.  I  had  usually  but  one 
servant,  and  she  was  a  girl  about  my  own  age.  I  was 
busy  near  the  chimney,  and  she  was  employed  near  the 
door  of  the  apartment,  when  some  one  knocked.  The 
door  wras  opened  by  her,  and  she  was  immediately 
addressed  with,  "Pr'ythee,  good  girl,  canst  thou  supply 
a  thirsty  man  with  a  glass  of  buttermilk  ?"  She  answered 
that  there  was  none  in  the  house.  "Ay,  but  there  is 
some  in  the  dairy  yonder.  Thou  knowest  as  well  as  I, 
though  Hermes  never  taught  thee,  that,  though  every 
dairy  be  a  house,  every  house  is  not  a  dairy."  To  this 
speech,  though  she  understood  only  a  part  of  it,  she  re 
plied  by  repeating  her  assurances  that  she  had  none  to 
give.  "Well,  then,"  rejoined  the  stranger,  "for  charity's 
sweet  sake,  hand  me  forth  a  cup  of  cold  water."  The 
girl  said  she  would  go  to  the  spring  and  fetch  it.  "Nay, 
give  me  the  cup,  and  suffer  me  to  help  myself.  Neither 
manacled  nor  lame,  I  should  merit  burial  in  the  maw  of 
carrion-crows  if  I  laid  this  task  upon  thee."  She  gave 
him  the  cup,  and  he  turned  to  go  to  the  spring. 

I  listened  to  this  dialogue  in  silence.  The  words 
uttered  by  the  person  without  affected  me  as  somewhat 
singular ;  but  what  chiefly  rendered  them  remarkable  was 
the  tone  that  accompanied  them.  It  was  wholly  new. 
My  brother's  voice  and  Pleyel's  were  musical  and  ener 
getic.  I  had  fondly  imagined  that,  in  this  respect,  they 
were  surpassed  by  none.  Now  my  mistake  was  detected. 
I  cannot  pretend  to  communicate  the  impression  that  was 
made  upon  me  by  these  accents,  or  to  depict  the  degree 
in  which  force  and  sweetness  were  blended  in  them. 
They  were  articulated  with  a  distinctness  that  was  un- 


72  WIELAND;    OR, 

exampled  in  my  experience.  But  this  was  not  all.  The 
voice  was  not  only  mellifluent  and  clear,  but  the  emphasis 
was  so  just,  and  the  modulation  so  impassioned,  that  it 
seemed  as  if  a  heart  of  stone  could  not  fail  of  being 
moved  by  it.  It  imparted  to  me  an  emotion  altogether 
involuntary  and  incontrollable.  When  he  uttered  the 
words,  "  for  charity's  sweet  sake,"  I  dropped  the  cloth 
that  I  held  in  my  hand ;  my  heart  overflowed  with  sym 
pathy  and  my  eyes  with  unbidden  tears. 

This  description  will  appear  to  you  trifling  or  incredi 
ble.  The  importance  of  these  circumstances  will  be  ma 
nifested  in  the  sequel.  The  manner  in  which  I  was  affected 
on  this  occasion  was,  to  my  own  apprehension,  a  subject 
of  astonishment.  The  tones  were  indeed  such  as  I  never 
heard  before ;  but  that  they  should  in  an  instant,  as  it 
were,  dissolve  me  in  tears,  will  not  easily  be  believed  by 
others,  and  can  scarcely  be  comprehended  by  myself. 

It  will  be  readily  supposed  that  I  was  somewhat  inqui 
sitive  as  to  the  person  and  demeanour  of  our  visitant. 
After  a  moment's  pause,  I  stepped  to  the  door  and  looked 
after  him.  Judge  my  surprise  when  I  beheld  the  self 
same  figure  that  had  appeared  a  half-hour  before  upon 
the  bank.  My  fancy  had  conjured  up  a  very  different 
image.  A  form  and  attitude  and  garb  were  instantly 
created  worthy  to  accompany  such  elocution ;  but  this 
person  was,  in  all  visible  respects,  the  reverse  of  this 
phantom.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  I  could  not  speedily 
reconcile  myself  to  this  disappointment.  Instead  of  re 
turning  to  my  employment,  I  threw  myself  in  a  chair 
that  was  placed  opposite  the  door,  and  sunk  into  a  fit  of 
musing. 

My  attention  was  in  a  few  minutes  recalled  by  the 
stranger,  who  returned  with  the  empty  cup  in  his  hand. 
I  had  not  thought  of  the  circumstance,  or  should  cer 
tainly  have  chosen  a  different  seat.  He  no  sooner  showed 
himself,  than  a  confused  sense  of  impropriety,  added  to 
the  suddenness  of  the  interview,  for  which,  not  having 
foreseen  it,  I  had  made  no  preparation,  threw  me  into  a 
state  of  the  most  painful  embarrassment.  He  brought 
with  him  a  placid  brow ;  but  no  sooner  had  he  cast  his 
eyes  upon  me  than  his  face  was  as  glowingly  suffused  as 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  73 

my  own.  He  placed  the  cup  upon  the  bench,  stammered 
out  thanks,  and  retired. 

It  was  some  time  before  I  could  recover  my  wonted 
composure.  I  had  snatched  a  view  of  the  stranger's 
countenance.  The  impression  that  it  made  was  vivid 
and  indelible.  His  cheeks  were  pallid  and  lank,  his  eyes 
sunken,  his  forehead  overshadowed  by  coarse  straggling 
hairs,  his  teeth  large  and  irregular,  though  sound  and 
brilliantly  white,  and  his  chin  discoloured  by  a  tetter. 
His  skin  was  of  coarse  grain  and  sallow  hue.  Every 
feature  was  wide  of  beauty,  and  the  outline  of  his  face 
reminded  you  of  an  inverted  cone. 

And  yet  his  forehead,  so  far  as  shaggy  locks  would 
allow  it  to  be  seen,  his  eyes  lustrously  black,  and  pos 
sessing,  in  the  midst  of  haggardness,  a  radia-nce  inex 
pressibly  serene  and  potent,  and  something  in  the  rest 
of  his  features  which  it  would  be  in  vain  to  describe,  but 
which  served  to  betoken  a  mind  of  the  highest  order, 
were  essential  ingredients  in  the  portrait.  This,  in  the 
effects  which  immediately  flowed  from  it,  I  count  among 
the  most  extraordinary  incidents  of  my  life.  This  face, 
seen  for  a  moment,  continued  for  hours  to  occupy  my 
fancy,  to  the  exclusion  of  almost  every  other  image.  I 
had  proposed  to  spend  the  evening  with  my  brother ;  but 
I  could  not  resist  the  inclination  of  forming  a  sketch 
upon  paper  of  this  memorable  visage.  Whether  my 
hand  was  aided  by  any  peculiar  inspiration,  or  I  was  de 
ceived  by  my  own  fond  conceptions,  this  portrait,  though 
hastily  executed,  appeared  unexceptionable  to  my  own 
taste. 

I  placed  it  at  all  distances  and  in  all  lights ;  my  eyes 
were  riveted  upon  it.  Half  the  night  passed  away  in 
wakefulness  and  in  contemplation  of  this  picture.  So 
flexible,  and  yet  so  stubborn,  is  the  human  mind!  So 
obedient  to  impulses  the  most  transient  and  brief,  and 
yet  so  unalterably  observant  of  the  direction  which  is 
given  to  it !  How  little  did  I  then  foresee  the  termina 
tion  of  that  chain  of  which  this  may  be  regarded  as  the 
first  link ! 

Next  day  arose  in  darkness  and  storm.  Torrents  of 
rain  fell  during  the  whole  day,  attended  with  incessant 


74  WIELAND;    OR, 

thunder,  which  reverberated  in  stunning  echoes  from  the 
opposite  declivity.     The  inclemency  of  the  air  would  not 
allow  me  to  walk  out.     I  had,  indeed,  no  inclination  to 
leave  my  apartment.    I  betook  myself  to  the  contempla 
tion  of  this  portrait,  whose  attractions  time  had  rather 
enhanced  than  diminished.     I  laid  aside  my  usual  occu 
pations,  and,  seating  myself  at  a  window,  consumed  the 
day  in  alternately  looking  out  upon  the  storm  and  gazing 
at  the  picture  which  lay  upon  a  table  before  me.     You 
will  perhaps  deem  this  conduct  somewhat  singular,  and 
ascribe  it  to  certain  peculiarities  of  temper.     I  am  not 
aware  of  any  such  peculiarities.    I  can  account  for  my  de 
votion  to  this  image  no  otherwise  than  by  supposing  that 
rits  properties  were  rare  and  prodigious.    Perhaps  you  will 
suspect  that  such  were  the  first  inroads  of  a  passion  inci 
dent  to  every  female  heart,  and  which  frequently  gains  a 
/  footing  by  means  even  more  slight  and  more  improbable 
'  j  than  these.    I  shall  not  controvert  the  reasonableness  of 
I  the  suspicion,  but  leave  you  at  liberty  to  draw  from  my 
(.narrative.  .wkaj_j^qnclusipnp  j^j)lea_se. 

Night  at  length  returned,  and  the  storm  ceased.  The 
air  was  once  more  clear  and  calm,  and  bore  an  affecting 
contrast  to  that  uproar  of  the  elements  by  which  it  had 
been  preceded.  I  spent  the  darksome  hours,  as  I  spent 
the  day,  contemplative  and  seated  at  the  window.  Why 
was  my  mind  absorbed  in  thoughts  ominous  and  dreary  ? 
Why  did  my  bosom  heave  with  sighs  and  my  eyes  over 
flow  with  tears?  Was  the  tempest  that  had  just  passed 
a  signal  of  the  ruin  which  impended  over  me  ?  My  soul 
fondly  dwelt  upon  the  images  of  my  brother  and  his 
children;  yet  they  only  increased  the  mournfulness  of 
my  contemplations.  The  smiles  of  the  charming  babes 
were  a&  bland  as  formerly.  The  same  dignity  sat  on  the 
brow  of  their  father,  and  yet  I  thought  of  them  with 
anguish.  Something  whispered  that  the  happiness  we  at 
present  enjoyed  was  set  on  mutable  foundations.  Death 
must  happen  to  all.  Whether  our  felicity  was  to  be  sub 
verted  by  it  to-morrow,  or  whether  it  was  ordained  that 
we  should  lay  down  our  heads  full  of  years  and  of  honour, 
was  a  question  that  no  human  being  could  solve.  At  other 
times  these  ideas  seldom  intruded.  I  either  forebore  to 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  75 

reflect  upon  the  destiny  that  is  reserved  for  all  men,  or 
the  reflection  was  mixed  up  with  images  that  disrobed  it 
of  terror ;  but  now  the  uncertainty  of  life  occurred  to  me 
without  any  of  its  usual  and  alleviating  accompaniments. 
I  said  to  myself,  We  must  die.  Sooner  or  later,  we  must 
disappear  forever  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  Whatever 
be  the  links  that  hold  us  to  life,  they  must  be  broken.  This 
scene  of  existence  is,  in  all  its  parts,  calamitous.  The 
greater  number  is  oppressed  with  immediate  evils,  and 
those  the  tide  of  whose  fortunes  is  full,  how  small  is  their 
portion  of  enjoyment,  since  they  know  that  it  will  terminate! 

For  some  time  I  indulged  myself,  without  reluctance, 
in  these  gloomy  thoughts ;  but  at  length  the  dejection 
which  they  produced  became  insupportably  painful.  I 
endeavoured  to  dissipate  it  with  music.  I  had  all  my 
grandfather's  melody  as  well  as  poetry  by  rote.  I  now 
lighted  by  chance  on  a  ballad  which  commemorated  the 
fate  of  a  German  cavalier  who  fell  at  the  siege  of  Nice 
under  Godfrey  of  Bouillon.  My  choice  was  unfortunate ; 
for  the  scenes  of  violence  and  carnage  which  were  here 
wildly  but  forcibly  portrayed  only  suggested  to  my 
thoughts  a  new  topic  in  the  horrors  of  war. 

I  sought  refuge,  but  ineffectually,  in  sleep.  My  mind 
was  thronged  by  vivid  but  confused  images,  and  no  effort 
that  I  made  was  sufficient  to  drive  them  away.  In  this 
situation  I  heard  the  clock,  which  hung  in  the  room,  give 
the  signal  for  twelve.  It  was  the  same  instrument  which 
formerly  hung  in  my  father's  chamber,  and  which,  on  ac 
count  of  its  being  his  workmanship,  was  regarded  by  every 
one  of  our  family  with  veneration.  It  had  fallen  to  me 
in  the  division  of  his  property,  and  was  placed  in  this 
asylum.  The  sound  awakened  a  series  of  reflections  re 
specting  his  death.  I  was  not  allowed  to  pursue  them ; 
for  scarcely  had  the  vibrations  ceased,  when  my  attention 
was  attracted  by  a  whisper,  which,  at  first,  appeared  to 
proceed  from  lips  that  were  laid  close  to  my  ear. 

No  wonder  that  a  circumstance  like  this  startled  me. 
In  the  first  impulse  of  my  terror,  I  uttered  a  slight  scream 
and  shrunk  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  bed.  In  a  moment, 
however,  I  recovered  from  my  trepidation.  I  was  habi 
tually  indifferent  to  all  the  causes  of  fear  by  which  the 


76  WIELAND;    OR, 

majority  are  afflicted.  I  entertained  no  apprehension  of 
either  ghosts  or  robbers.  Our  security  had  never  been 
molested  by  either,  and  I  made  use  of  no  means  to  pre 
vent  or  counterwork  their  machinations.  My  tranquillity 
on  this  occasion  was  quickly  retrieved.  The  whisper 
evidently  proceeded  from  one  who  was  posted  at  my  bed 
side.  The  first  idea  that  suggested  itself  was  that  it 
was  uttered  by  the  girl  who  lived  with  me  as  a  servant. 
Perhaps  somewhat  had  alarmed  her,  or  she  was  sick,  and 
had  come  to  request  my  assistance.  By  whispering  in 
my  ear  she  intended  to  rouse  without  alarming  me. 

Full  of  this  persuasion,  I  called,  "Judith,"  said  I,  "is 
it  you?  What  do  you  want?  Is  there  any  thing  the 
matter  with  you  ? ' '  No  answer  was  returned.  I  repeated 
my  inquiry,  but  equally  in  vain.  Cloudy  as  was  the 
atmosphere,  and  curtained  as  my  bed  was,  nothing  was 
visible.  I  withdrew  the  curtain,  and,  leaning  my  head 
on  my  elbow,  I  listened  with  the  deepest  attention  to 
catch  some  new  sound.  Meanwhile,  I  ran  over  in  my 
thoughts  every  circumstance  that  could  assist  my  con 
jectures. 

My  habitation  was  a  wooden  edifice,  consisting  of  two 
stories.  In  each  story  were  two  rooms,  separated  by  an 
entry,  or  middle  passage,  with  which  they  communicated 
by  opposite  doors.  The  passage  on  the  lower  story  had 
doors  at  the  two  ends,  and  a  staircase.  Windows  answered 
to  the  doors  on  the  upper  story.  Annexed  to  this,  on 
the  eastern  side,  were  wings,  divided  in  like  manner  into 
an  upper  and  lower  room;  one  of  them  comprised  a 
kitchen,  and  chamber  above  it  for  the  servant,  and  com 
municated  on  both  stories  with  the  parlour  adjoining  it 
below  and  the  chamber  adjoining  it  above.  The  opposite 
wing  is  of  smaller  dimensions,  the  rooms  not  being  above 
eight  feet  square.  The  lower  of  these  was  used  as  a  de 
pository  of  household  implements ;  the  upper  was  a  closet 
in  which  I  deposited  my  books  and  papers.  They  had 
but  one  inlet,  which  was  from  the  room  adjoining.  There 
was  no  window  in  the  lower  one,  and  in  the  upper  a  small 
aperture  which  communicated  light  and  air,  but  would 
scarcely  admit  the  body.  The  door  which  led  into  this 
was  close  to  my  bed-head,  and  was  always  locked  but 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  77 

when  I  myself  was  within.  The  avenues  below  were 
accustomed  to  be  closed  and  bolted  at  nights. 

The  maid  was  my  only  companion ;  and  she  could  not 
reach  my  chamber  without  previously  passing  through  the 
opposite  chamber  and  the  middle  passage,  of  which,  how 
ever,  the  doors  were  usually  unfastened.  If  she  had  oc 
casioned  this  noise,  she  would  have  answered  my  repeated 
calls.  No  other  conclusion,  therefore,  was  left  me,  but 
that  I  had  mistaken  the  sounds,  and  that  my  imagination 
had  transformed  some  casual  noise  into  the  voice  of  a 
human  creature.  Satisfied  with  this  solution,  I  was  pre 
paring  to  relinquish  my  listening  attitude,  when  my  ear 
was  again  saluted  with  a  new  and  yet  louder  whispering. 
It  appeared,  as  before,  to  issue  from  lips  that  touched  my 
pillow.  A  second  effort  of  attention,  however,  clearly 
showed  me  that  the  sounds  issued  from  within  the  closet, 
the  door  of  which  was  not  more  than  eight  inches  from 
my  pillow. 

This  second  interruption  occasioned  a  shock  less  vehe 
ment  than  the  former.  I  started,  but  gave  no  audible 
token  of  alarm.  I  was  so  much  mistress  of  my  feelings 
as  to  continue  listening  to  what  should  be  said.  The 
whisper  was  distinct,  hoarse,  and  uttered  so  as  to  show 
that  the  speaker  was  desirous  of  being  heard  by  some 
one  near,  but,  at  the  same  time,  studious  to  avoid  being 
overheard  by  any  other : — 

"Stop!  stop,  I  say,  madman  as  you  are!  there  are 
better  means  than  that.  Curse  upon  your  rashness! 
There  is  no  need  to  shoot." 

Such  were  the  words  uttered,  in  a  tone  of  eagerness  and 
anger,  within  so  small  a  distance  of  my  pillow.  What  con 
struction  could  I  put  upon  them  ?  My  heart  began  to  pal 
pitate  with  dread  of  some  unknown  danger.  Presently, 
another  voice,  but  equally  near  me,  was  heard  whispering 
in  answer,  "Why  not?  I  will  draw  a  trigger  in  this 
business ;  but  perdition  be  my  lot  if  I  do  more !"  To  this 
the  first  voice  returned,  in  a  tone  which  rage  had  heightened 
in  a  small  degree  above  a  whisper,  "  Coward !  stand  aside, 
and  see  me  do  it.  I  will  grasp  her  throat ;  I  will  do  her 
business  in  an  instant ;  she  shall  not  have  time  so  much  as 
to  groan."  What  wonder  that  I  was  petrified  by  sounds 


78  WIELAND;    OR, 

so  dreadful !  Murderers  lurked  in  my  closet.  They  were 
planning  the  means  of  my  destruction.  One  resolved  to 
shoot,  and  the  other  menaced  suffocation.  Their  means 
being  chosen,  they  would  forthwith  break  the  door.  Flight 
instantly  suggested  itself  as  most  eligible  in  circumstances 
so  perilous.  I  deliberated  not  a  moment ;  but,  fear  adding 
wings  to  my  speed,  I  leaped  out  of  bed,  and,  scantily  robed 
as  I  was,  rushed  out  of  the  chamber,  down-stairs,  and  into 
the  open  air.  I  can  hardly  recollect  the  process  of  turn 
ing  keys  and  withdrawing  bolts.  My  terrors  urged  me 
forward  with  almost  a  mechanical  impulse.  I  stopped  not 
till  I  reached  my  brother's  door.  I  had  not  gained  the 
threshold,  when,  exhausted  by  the  violence  of  my  emo 
tions  and  by  my  speed,  I  sunk  down  in  a  fit. 

How  long  I  remained  in  this  situation  I  know  not. 
When  I  recovered,  I  found  myself  stretched  on  a  bed, 
surrounded  by  my  sister  and  her  female  servants.  I  was 
astonished  at  the  scene  before  me,  but  gradually  recovered 
the  recollection  of  what  had  happened.  I  answered 
their  importunate  inquiries  as  well  as  I  was  able.  My 
brother  and  Pleyel,  whom  the  storm  of  the  preceding  day 
chanced  to  detain  here,  informing  themselves  of  every 
particular,  proceeded  with  lights  and  weapons  to  my  de 
serted  habitation.  They  entered  my  chamber  and  my 
closet,  and  found  every  thing  in  its  proper  place  and 
customary  order.  The  door  of  the  closet  was  locked,  and 
appeared  not  to  have  been  opened  in  my  absence.  They 
went  to  Judith's  apartment.  They  found  her  asleep  and 
in  safety.  Pleyel's  caution  induced  him  to  forbear  alarm 
ing  the  girl ;  and,  finding  her  wholly  ignorant  of  what 
had  passed,  they  directed  her  to  return  to  her  chamber. 
They  then  fastened  the  doors  and  returned. 

My  friends  were  disposed  to  regard  this  transaction  as 
a  dream.  That  persons  should  be  actually  immured  in 
this  closet,  to  which,  in  the  circumstances  of  the  time, 
access  from  without  or  within  was  apparently  impossible, 
they  could  not  seriously  believe.  That  any  human  beings 
had  intended  murder,  unless  it  wrere  to  cover  a  scheme  of 
pillage,  was  incredible ;  but  that  no  such  design  had  been 
formed  was  evident  from  the  security  in  which  the  furni 
ture  of  the  house  and  the  closet  remained. 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  fg 

I  revolved  every  incident  and  expression  that  had 
occurred.  My  senses  assured  me  of  the  truth  of  them ; 
and  yet  their  abruptness  and  improbability  made  me,  in 
my  turn,  somewhat  incredulous.  The  adventure  had 
made  a  deep  impression  on  my  fancy ;  and  it  was  not  till 
after  a  week's  abode  at  my  brother's  that  I  resolved  to 
resume  the  possession  of  my  own  dwelling. 

There  was  another  circumstance  that  enhanced  the 
mysteriousness  of  this  event.  After  my  recovery,  it  was 
obvious  to  inquire  by  what  means  the  attention  of  the 
family  had  been  drawn  to  my  situation.  I  had  fallen 
before  I  had  reached  the  threshold  or  was  able  to  give  any 
signal.  My  brother  related  that,  while  this  was  transact 
ing  in  my  chamber,  he  himself  was  awake,  in  consequence 
of  some  slight  indisposition,  and  lay,  according  to  his 
custom,  musing  on  some  favourite  topic.  Suddenly  the 
silence,  which  was  remarkably  profound,  was  broken  by 
a  voice  of  most  piercing  shrillness,  that  seemed  to  be 
uttered  by  one  in  the  hall  below  his  chamber.  " Awake ! 
arise!"  it  exclaimed;  " hasten  to  succour^ one  that  is 
dying  at  your  door!" 

This  summons  was  effectual.  There  was  no  one  in  the 
house  who  was  not  roused  by  it.  Pleyel  was  the  first  to 
obey,  and  my  brother  overtook  him  before  he  reached 
the  hall.  What  was  the  general  astonishment  when  your 
friend  was  discovered  stretched  upon  the  grass  before  the 
door,  pale,  ghastly,  and  with  every  mark  of  death ! 

This  was  the  third  instance  of  a  voice  exerted  for  the 
benefit  of  this  little  community.  The  agont  was  no  less 
inscrutable  in  this  than  in  the  former  case.  When  I 
ruminated  upon  these  events,  my  soul  was  suspended  in 
wonder  and  awe.  Was  I  really  deceived  in  imagining  that 
I  heard  the  closet  conversation?  I  was  no  longer  at 
liberty  to  question  the  reality  of  those  accents  which  had 
formerly  recalled  my  brother  from  the  hill,  which  had 
imparted  tidings  of  the  death  of  the  German  lady  to  Pleyel, 
and  which  had  lately  summoned  them  to  my  assistance. 

But  how  was  I  to  regard  this  midnight  conversation  ? 
Hoarse  and  manlike  voices  conferring  on  the  means  of 
death,  so  near  my  bed,  and  at  such  an  hour !  How  had 
my  ancient  security  vanished  !  That  dwelling  which  had 


80  WIELAND;    OR, 

hitherto  been  an  inviolate  asylum  was  now  beset  with 
danger  to  my  life.  That  solitude  formerly  so  dear  to 
me  could  no  longer  be  endured.  Pleyel,  who  had  con 
sented  to  reside  with  us  during  the  months  of  spring, 
lodged  in  the  vacant  chamber,  in  order  to  quiet  my 
alarms.  He  treated  my  fears  with  ridicule,  and  in  a 
short  time  very  slight  traces  of  them  remained ;  but,  as 
it  was  wholly  indifferent  to  him  whether  his  nights  were 
passed  at  my  house  or  at  my  brother's,  this  arrange 
ment  gave  general  satisfaction. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

I  WILL  enumerate  the  various  inquiries  and  conjec 
tures  which  these  incidents  occasioned.  After  all  our 
efforts,  we  came  no  nearer  to  dispelling  the  mist  in  which 
they  were  involved ;  and  time,  instead  of  facilitating  a 
solution,  only  accumulated  our  doubts. 

In  the  midst  of  thoughts  excited  by  these  events,  I  was 
not  unmindful  of  my  interview  with  the  stranger.  I 
related  the  particulars,  and  showed  the  portrait  to  my 
friends.  Pleyel  recollected  to  have  met  with  a  figure 
resembling  my  description  in  the  city;  but  neither  his 
face  or  garb  made  the  same  impression  upon  him  that  it 
made  upon  me.  It  was  a  hint  to  rally  me  upon  my  pre 
possessions,  and  to  amuse  us  with  a  thousand  ludicrous 
anecdotes  which  he  had  collected  in  his  travels.  He 
made  no  scruple  to  charge  me  with  being  in  love ;  and 
threatened  to  inform  the  swain,  when  he  met  him,  of 
his  good  fortune. 

Pleyel's  temper  made  him  susceptible  of  no  durable 
impressions.  His  conversation  was  occasionally  visited 
by  gleams  of  his  ancient  vivacity;  but,  though  his  im 
petuosity  was  sometimes  inconvenient,  there  was  nothing 
to  dread  from  his  malice.  I  had  no  fear  that  my  cha 
racter  or  dignity  would  suffer  in  his  hands,  and  was  not 
heartily  displeased  when  he  declared  his  intention  of 
profiting  by  his  first  meeting  with  the  stranger  to  intro 
duce  him  to  our  acquaintance. 

Some  weeks  after  this  I  had  spent  a  toilsome  day,  and, 
as  the  sun  declined,  found  myself  disposed  to  seek  relief 
in  a  walk.  The  river-bank  is,  at  this  part  of  it  and  for 
some  considerable  space  upward,  so  rugged  and  steep  as 
not  to  be  easily  descended.  In  a  recess  of  this  declivity, 
6  81 


82  WIELAND;    OR, 

near  the  southern  verge  of  my  little  demesne,  was  placed 
a  slight  building,  with  seats  and  lattices.  From  a  crevice 
of  the  rock  to  which  this  edifice  was  attached  there  burst 
forth  a  stream  of  the  purest  water,  which,  leaping  from 
ledge  to  ledge  for  the  space  of  sixty  feet,  produced  a 
freshness  in  the  air,  and  a  murmur,  the  most  delicious 
and  soothing  imaginable.  These,  added  to  the  odours 
of  the  cedars  which  embowered  it,  and  of  the  honey 
suckle  which  clustered  among  the  lattices,  rendered  this 
my  favourite  retreat  in  summer. 

On  this  occasion  I  repaired  hither.  My  spirits  drooped 
through  the  fatigue  of  long  attention,  and  I  threw  myself 
upon  a  bench,  in  a  state,  both  mentally  and  personally, 
of  the  utmost  supineness.  The  lulling  sounds  of  the  water 
fall,  the  fragrance,  and  the  dusk,  combined  to  becalm  my 
spirits,  and,  in  a  short  time,  to  sink  me  into  sleep.  Either 
the  uneasiness  of  my  posture,  or  some  slight  indisposition, 
molested  my  repose  with  dreams  of  no  cheerful  hue.  After 
various  incoherences  had  taken  their  turn  to  occupy  my 
fancy,  I  at  length  imagined  myself  walking,  in  the  evening 
twilight,  to  my  brother's  habitation.  A  pit,  methought,  had 
been  dug  in  the  path  I  had  taken,  of  which  I  was  not  aware. 
As  I  carelessly  pursued  my  walk,  I  thought  I  saw  my 
brother  standing  at  some  distance  before  me,  beckoning 
and  calling  me  to  make  haste.  He  stood  on  the  opposite 
edge  of  the  gulf.  I  mended  my  pace,  and  one  step  more 
would  have  plunged  me  into  this  abyss,  had  not  some  one 
from  behind  caught  suddenly  my  arm,  and  exclaimed,  in 
a  voice  of  eagerness  and  terror,  "Hold!  hold!" 

The  sound  broke  my  sleep,  and  I  found  myself,  at  the 
next  moment,  standing  on  my  feet,  and  surrounded  by  the 
deepest  darkness.  Images  so  terrific  and  forcible  disabled 
me  for  a  time  from  distinguishing  between  sleep  and  wake- 
fulness,  and  withheld  from  me  the  knowledge  of  my  actual 
condition.  My  first  panic  was  succeeded  by  the  perturba 
tions  of  surprise  to  find  myself  alone  in  the  open  air  and 
immersed  in  so  deep  a  gloom.  I  slowly  recollected  the 
incidents  of  the  afternoon,  and  how  I  came  hither.  I  could 
not  estimate  the  time,  but  saw  the  propriety  of  returning 
with  speed  to  the  house.  My  faculties  were  still  too  con 
fused,  and  the  darkness  too  intense,  to  allow  me  imme- 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  83 

diately  to  find  my  way  up  the  steep.  I  sat  down,  there 
fore,  to  recover  myself,  and  to  reflect  upon  my  situation* 

This  was  no  sooner  done,  than  a  low  voice  was  heard 
from  behind  the  lattice,  on  the  side  where  I  sat.  Between 
the  rock  and  the  lattice  was  a  chasm  not  wide  enough  to 
admit  a  human  body ;  yet  in  this  chasm  he  that  spoke 
appeared  to  be  stationed.  "Attend!  attend!  but  be 
not  terrified." 

I  started,  and  exclaimed,  "  Good  heavens !  what  is 
that  ?  Who  are  you  ?" 

"A  friend;  one  come  not  to  injure  but  to  save  you: 
fear  nothing." 

This  voice  was  immediately  recognised  to  be  the  same 
with  one  of  those  which  I  had  heard  in  the  closet ;  it  was 
the  voice  of  him  who  had  proposed  to  shoot  rather  than 
to  strangle  his  victim.  My  terror  made  me  at  once  mute 
and  motionless.  He  continued,  "I  leagued  to  murder 
you.  I  repent.  Mark  my  bidding,  and  oe  safe.  Avoid 
this  spot.  The  snares  of  death  encompass  it.  Elsewhere 
danger  will  be  distant;  but  this  spot,  shun  it  as  you 
value  your  life.  Mark  me  further :  profit  by  this  warn 
ing,  but  divulge  it  not.  If  a  syllable  of  what  has  passed 
escape  you,  your  doom  is  sealed.  Remember  your  father, 
and  be  faithful." 

Here  the  accents  ceased,  and  left  me  overwhelmed  with 
dismay.  I  was  fraught  with  the  persuasion  that  during 
every  moment  I  remained  here  my  life  was  endangered ; 
but  I  could  not  take  a  step  without  hazard  of  falling  to 
the  bottom  of  the  precipice.  The  path  leading  to  the 
summit  was  short,  but  rugged  and  intricate.  Even  star 
light  was  excluded  by  the  umbrage,  and  not  the  faintest 
gleam  was  afforded  to  guide  my  steps.  What  should  I  do  ? 
To  depart  or  remain  was  equally  and  eminently  perilous. 

In  this  state  of  uncertainty,  I  perceived  a  ray  flit 
across  the  gloom  and  disappear.  Another  succeeded, 
which  was  stronger,  and  remained  for  a  passing  moment. 
It  glittered  on  the  shrubs  that  were  scattered  at  the 
entrance,  and  gleam  continued  to  succeed  gleam  for  a 
few  seconds,  till  they  finally  give  place  to  unintermitted 
darkness. 

The  first  visitings  of  this  light  called  up  a  train  of  hor- 


84  WIELAND;    OR, 

rors  in  my  naind ;  destruction  impended  over  this  spot ; 
the  voice  which  I  had  lately  heard  had  warned  me  to  re 
tire,  and  had  menaced  me  with  the  fate  of  my  father  if  I 
refused.  I  was  desirous,  but  unable  to  obey ;  these  gleams 
were  such  as  preluded  the  stroke  by  which  he  fell ;  the 
hour,  perhaps,  was  the  same.  I  shuddered  as  if  I  had 
beheld  suspended  over  me  the  exterminating  sword. 

Presently  a  new  and  stronger  illumination  burst  through 
the  lattice  on  the  right  hand,  and  a  voice  from  the  edge 
of  the  precipice  above  called  out  my  name.  It  was  Pleyel. 
Joyfully  did  I  recognise  his  accents ;  but  such  was  the 
tumult  of  my  thoughts  that  I  had  not  power  to  answer 
him  till  he  had  frequently  repeated  his  summons.  I 
hurried  at  length  from  the  fatal  spot,  and,  directed  by 
the  lantern  which  he  bore,  ascended  the  hill. 

Pale  and  breathless,  it  was  with  difficulty  I  could  sup 
port  myself.  He  anxiously  inquired  into  the  cause  of 
my  affright  and  the  motive  of  my  unusual  absence.  He 
had  returned  from  my  brother's  at  a  late  hour,  and  was 
informed  by  Judith  that  I  had  walked  out  before  sunset 
and  had  not  yet  returned.  This  intelligence  was  some 
what  alarming.  He  waited  some  time ;  but,  my  absence 
continuing,  he  had  set  out  in  search  of  me.  He  had  ex 
plored  the  neighbourhood  with  the  utmost  care,  but,  re 
ceiving  no  tidings  of  me,  he  was  preparing  to  acquaint 
my  brother  with  this  circumstance,  when  he  recollected 
the  summer-house  on  the  bank,  and  conceived  it  possible 
that  some  accident  had  detained  me  there.  He  again 
inquired  into  the  cause  of  this  detention,  and  of  that 
confusion  and  dismay  which  my  looks  testified. 

I  told  him  that  I  had  strolled  hither  in  the  afternoon, 
that  sleep  had  overtaken  me  as  I  sat,  and  that  I  had 
awakened  a  few  minutes  before  his  arrival.  I  could  tell 
him  no  more.  In  the  present  impetuosity  of  my  thoughts, 
I  was  almost  dubious  whether  the  pit  into  which  my  bro 
ther  had  endeavoured  to  entice  me,  and  the  voice  that 
talked  through  the  lattice,  were  not  parts  of  the  same 
dream.  I  remembered,  likewise,  the  charge  of  secrecy, 
and  the  penalty  denounced  if  I  should  rashly  divulge 
what  I  had  heard.  For  these  reasons  I  was  silent  on 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  85 

that  subject,  and,  shutting  myself  in  my  chamber,  de 
livered  myself  up  to  contemplation. 

What  I  have  related  will,  no  doubt,  appear  to  you  a 
fable.  You  will  believe  that  calamity  has  subverted  my 
reason,  and  that  I  am  amusing  you  with  the  chimeras  of 
my  brain  instead  of  facts  that  have  really  happened.  I 
shall  not  be  surprised  or  offended  if  these  be  your  sus 
picions.  I  know  not,  indeed,  how  you  can  deny  them 
admission.  For,  if  to  me,  the  immediate  witness,  they 
were  fertile  of  perplexity  and  doubt,  how  must  they  affect 
another  to  whom  they  are  recommended  only  by  my 
testimony?  It  was  only  by  subsequent  events  that  I 
was  fully  and  incontestably  assured  of  the  veracity  of 
my  senses. 

Meanwhile,  what  was  I  to  think  ?  I  had  been  assured 
that  a  design  had  been  formed  against  my  life.  The  ruf 
fians  had  leagued  to  murder  me.  Whom  had  I  offended  ? 
Who  was  there,  with  whom  I  had  ever  maintained  inter 
course,  who  was  capable  of  harbouring  such  atrocious 
purposes  ? 

My  temper  was  the  reverse  of  cruel  and  imperious. 
My  heart  was  touched  with  sympathy  for  the  children  of 
misfortune.  But  this  sympathy  was  not  a  barren  senti 
ment.  My  purse,  scanty  as  it  was,  was  ever  open,  and 
my  hands  ever  active,  to  relieve  distress.  Many  were 
the  wretches  whom  my  personal  exertions  had  extricated 
from  want  and  disease,  and  who  rewarded  me  with  their 
gratitude.  There  was  no  face  which  lowered  at  my  ap 
proach,  and  no  lips  which  uttered  imprecations  in  my 
hearing.  On  the  contrary,  there  was  none,  over  whose 
fate  I  had  exerted  any  influence  or  to  whom  I  was  known 
by  reputation,  who  did  not  greet  me  with  smiles  and  dis 
miss  me  with  proofs  of  veneration :  yet  did  not  my  senses 
assure  me  that  a  plot  was  laid  against  my  life  ? 

I  am  not  destitute  of  courage.  I  have  shown  myself 
deliberative  and  calm  in  the  midst  of  peril.  I  have 
hazarded  my  own  life  for  the  preservation  of  another ; 
but  now  was  I  confused  and  panic-struck.  I  have  not 
lived  so  as  to  fear  death ;  yet  to  perish  by  an  unseen  and 
secret  stroke,  to  be  mangled  by  the  knife  of  an  assassin, 


86  WIELAND;    OR, 

was  a  thought  at  which  I  shuddered :  what  had  I  done 
to  deserve  to  be  made  the  victim  of  malignant  passions  ? 

But  soft !  was  I  not  assured  that  my  life  was  safe  in 
all  places  but  one?  And  why  was  the  treason  limited  to 
take  eifect  in  this  spot  ?  I  was  everywhere  equally  de 
fenceless.  My  house  and  chamber  were  at  all  times 
accessible.  Danger  still  impended  over  me  ;  the  bloody 
purpose  was  still  entertained,  but  the  hand  that  was  to 
execute  it  was  powerless  in  all  places  but  one ! 

Here  I  had  remained  for  the  last  four  or  five  hours, 
without  the  means  of  resistance  or  defence ;  yet  I  had  not 
been  attacked.  A  human  being  was  at  hand,  who  was 
conscious  of  my  presence,  and  warned  me  hereafter  to 
avoid  this  retreat.  His  voice  was  not  absolutely  new, 
but  had  I  never  heard  it  but  once  before  ?  But  why  did 
he  prohibit  me  from  relating  this  incident  to  others,  and 
what  species  of  death  will  be  awarded  if  I  disobey  ? 

He  talked  of  my  father.  He  intimated  that  disclosure 
would  pull  upon  my  head  the  same  destruction.  Was 
then  the  death  of  my  father,  portentous  and  inexplicable 
as  it  was,  the  consequence  of  human  machinations  ?  It 
should  seem  that  this  being  is  apprized  of  the  true  na 
ture  of  this  event,  and  is  conscious  of  the  means  that  led 
to  it.  Whether  it  shall  likewise  fall  upon  me  depends 
upon  the  observance  of  silence.  Was  it  the  infraction 
of  a  similar  command  that  brought  so  horrible  a  penalty 
upon  my  father? 

Such  were  the  reflections  that  haunted  me  during  the 
night,  and  which  effectually  deprived  me  of  sleep.  Next 
morning,  at  breakfast,  Pleyel  related  an  event  which  my 
disappearance  had  hindered  him  from  mentioning  the 
night  before.  Early  the  preceding  morning,  his  occa 
sions  called  him  to  the  city :  he  had  stepped  into  a  coffee 
house  to  while  away  an  hour;  here  he  had  met  a  person 
whose  appearance  instantly  bespoke  him  to  be  the  same 
whose  hasty  visit  I  have  mentioned,  and  whose  extraor 
dinary  visage  and  tones  had  so  powerfully  affected  me. 
On  an  attentive  survey,  however,  he  proved,  likewise,  to 
be  one  with  whom  my  friend  had  had  some  intercourse  in 
Europe.  This  authorized  the  liberty  of  accosting  him, 
and  after  some  conversation,  mindful,  as  Pleyel  said,  of 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  8/ 

the  footing  which  this  stranger  had  gained  in  my  heart, 
he  had  ventured  to  invite  him  to  Mettingen.  The  invi 
tation  had  been  cheerfully  accepted,  and  a  visit  promised 
on  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day. 

This  information  excited  no  sober  emotions  in  my 
breast.  I  was,  of  course,  eager  to  be  informed  as  to  the 
circumstances  of  their  ancient  intercourse.  When  and 
where  had  they  met  ?  What  knew  he  of  the  life  and 
character  of  this  man  ? 

In  answer  to  my  inquiries,  he  informed  me  that,  three 
years  before,  he  was  a  traveller  in  Spain.  He  had  made 
an  excursion  from  Valencia  to  Murviedro,  with  a  view  to 
inspect  the  remains  of  Roman  magnificence  scattered  in 
the  environs  of  that  town.  While  traversing  the  site  of 
the  theatre  of  old  Saguntum,  he  alighted  upon  this  man, 
seated  on  a  stone,  and  deeply  engaged  in  perusing  the 
work  of  the  deacon  Marti.  A  short  conversation  ensued, 
which  proved  the  stranger  to  be  English.  They  returned 
to  Valencia  together. 

His  garb,  aspect,  and  deportment  were  wholly  Spanish. 
A  residence  of  three  years  in  the  country,  indefatigable 
attention  to  the  language,  and  a  studious  conformity  with 
the  customs  of  the  people,  had  made  him  indistinguish 
able  from  a  native  when  he  chose  to  assume  that  charac 
ter.  Pleyel  found  him  to  be  connected,  on  the  footing 
of  friendship  and  respect,  with  many  eminent  merchants 
in  that  city.  He  had  embraced  the  Catholic  religion, 
and  adopted  a  Spanish  name  instead  of  his  own,  which 
was  CARWIN,  and  devoted  himself  to  the  literature  and 
religion  of  his  new  country.  He  pursued  no  profession, 
but  subsisted  on  remittances  from  England. 

While  Pleyel  remained  in  Valencia,  Carwin  betrayed 
no  aversion  to  intercourse,  and  the  former  found  no  small 
attractions  in  the  society  of  this  new  acquaintance.  On 
general  topics  he  was  highly  intelligent  and  communica 
tive.  He  had  visited  every  corner  of  Spain,  and  could 
furnish  the  most  accurate  details  respecting  its  ancient 
and  present  state.  On  topics  of  religion  and  of  his  own 
history,  previous  to  his  transformation  into  a  Spaniard, 
he  was  invariably  silent.  You  could  merely  gather  from 


88  WIELAND;    OR, 

his  discourse  that  he  was  English,  and  that  he  was  well 
acquainted  with  the  neighbouring  countries. 

His  character  excited  considerable  curiosity  in  the 
observer.  It  was  not  easy  to  reconcile  his  conversion  to 
the  Romish  faith  with  those  proofs  of  knowledge  and 
capacity  that  were  exhibited  by  him  on  different  occa 
sions.  A  suspicion  was  sometimes  admitted  that  his  be 
lief  was  counterfeited  for  some  political  purpose.  The 
most  careful  observation,  however,  produced  no  discovery. 
His  manners  were  at  all  times  harmless  and  inartificial, 
and  his  habits  those  of  a  lover  of  contemplation  and 
seclusion.  He  appeared  to  have  contracted  an  affection 
for  Pleyel,  who  was  not  slow  to  return  it. 

My  friend,  after  a  month's  residence  in  this  city, 
returned  into  France,  and,  since  that  period,  had  heard 
nothing  concerning  Carwin  till  his  appearance  at  Met- 
tingen. 

On  this  occasion  Carwin  had  received  Pleyel's  greet 
ing  with  a  certain  distance  and  solemnity  to  which  the 
latter  had  not  been  accustomed.  He  had  waived  no 
ticing  the  inquiries  of  Pleyel  respecting  his  desertion  of 
Spain,  in  which  he  had  formerly  declared  that  it  was  his 
purpose  to  spend  his  life.  He  had  assiduously  diverted 
the  attention  of  the  latter  to  indifferent  topics,  but  was 
still,  on  every  theme,  as  eloquent  and  judicious  as 
formerly.  Why  he  had  assumed  the  garb  of  a  rustic 
Pleyel  was  unable  to  conjecture.  Perhaps  it  might  be 
poverty ;  perhaps  he  was  swayed  by  motives  which  it  was 
his  interest  to  conceal,  but  which  were  connected  with 
consequences  of  the  utmost  moment. 

Such  was  the  sum  of  my  friend's  information.  I  was 
not  sorry  to  be  left  alone  during  the  greater  part  of  this 
day.  Every  employment  was  irksome  which  did  not 
leave  me  at  liberty  to  meditate.  I  had  now  a  new  sub 
ject  on  which  to  exercise  my  thoughts.  Before  evening 
I  should  be  ushered  into  his  presence,  and  listen  to  those 
tones  whose  magical  and  thrilling  power  I  had  already 
experienced.  But  with  what  new  images  would  he  then 
be  accompanied  ? 

Carwin  was  an  adherent  to  the  Romish  faith,  yet  was 
an  Englishman  by  birth,  and,  perhaps,  a  Protestant  by 


THE   TRANSFORMATION.  89 

education.  He  had  adopted  Spain  for  his  country,  and 
had  intimated  a  design  to  spend  his  days  there,  yet  now 
was  an  inhabitant  of  this  district,  and  disguised  by  the 
habiliments  of  a  clown !  What  could  have  obliterated 
the  impressions  of  his  youth  and  made  him  abjure  his 
religion  and  his  country  ?  What  subsequent  events  had 
introduced  so  total  a  change  in  his  plans  ?  In  withdraw 
ing  from  Spain,  had  he  reverted  to  the  religion  of  his 
ancestors  ?  or  was  it  true  that  his  former  conversion  was 
deceitful,  and  that  his  conduct  had  been  swayed  by 
motives  which  it  was  prudent  to  conceal  ? 

Hours  were  consumed  in  revolving  these  ideas.  My 
meditations  were  intense;  and,  when  the  series  was 
broken,  I  began  to  reflect  with  astonishment  on  my 
situation.  From  the  death  of  my  parents  till  the  com 
mencement  of  this  year  my  life  had  been  serene  and 
blissful  beyond  the  ordinary  portion  of  humanity ;  but 
now  my  bosom  was  corroded  by  anxiety.  I  was  visited 
by  dread  of  unknown  dangers,  and  the  future  was  a  scene 
over  which  clouds  rolled  and  thunders  muttered.  I  com 
pared  the  cause  with  the  effect,  and  they  seemed  dispro- 
portioned  to  each  other.  All  unaware,  and  in  a  manner 
which  I  had  no  power  to  explain,  I  was  pushed  from  my  im 
movable  and  lofty  station  and  cast  upon  a  sea  of  troubles. 

I  determined  to  be  my  brother's  visitant  on  this  even 
ing  ;  yet  my  resolves  were  not  unattended  with  wavering 
and  reluctance.  Pleyel's  insinuations  that  I  was  in  love 
affected  in  no  degree  my  belief;  yet  the  consciousness 
that  this  was  the  opinion  of  one  who  would  probably  be 
present  at  our  introduction  to  each  other  would  excite 
all  that  confusion  which  the  passion  itself  is  apt  to  pro 
duce.  Tfcs  would  confirm  him  in  his  error  and  call  forth 
new  railleries.  His  mirth,  when  exerted  upon  this  topic, 
was  the  source  of  the  bitterest  vexation.  Had  he  been 
aware'  of  its  influence  upon  my  happiness,  his  temper 
woulfi  not  have  allowed  him  to  persist ;  but  this  influence 
it  was  my  chief  endeavour  to  conceal.  That  the  belief 
of  my  having  bestowed  my  heart  upon  another  produced 
in  my  friend  none  but  ludicrous  sensations  was  the  true 
cause  of  my  distress ;  but  if  this  had  been  discovered  by 
Jiim  my  distress  would  have  been  unspeakably  aggravated. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

As  soon  as  evening  arrived,  I  performed  my  visit. 
Carwin  made  one  of  the  company  into  which  I  was 
ushered.  Appearances  were  the  same  as  when  I  before 
beheld  him.  His  garb  was  equally  negligent  and  rustic. 
I  gazed  upon  his  countenance  with  new  curiosity.  My 
situation  was  such  as  to  enable  me  to  bestow  upon  it  a 
deliberate  examination.  Viewed  at  more  leisure,  it  lost 
none  of  its  wonderful  properties.  I  could  not  deny  my 
homage  to  the  intelligence  expressed  in  it,  but  was 
wholly  uncertain  whether  he  were  an  object  to  be 
dreaded  or  adored,  and  whether  his  powers  had  been 
exerted  to  evil  or  to  good. 

He  was  sparing  in  discourse ;  but  whatever  he  said 
was  pregnant  with  meaning,  and  uttered  with  rectitude 
of  articulation  and  force  of  emphasis  of  which  I  had  en 
tertained  no  conception  previously  to  my  knowledge  of 
him.  Notwithstanding  the  uncouthness  of  his  garb,  his 
manners  were  not  unpolished.  All  topics  were  handled 
by  him  with  skill,  and  without  pedantry  or  affectation. 
He  uttered  no  sentiment  calculated  to  produce  a  dis 
advantageous  impression ;  on  the  contrary,  his  observa 
tions  denoted  a  mind  alive  to  every  generous  and  heroic 
feeling.  They  were  introduced  without  parade,  and  ac 
companied  with  that  degree  of  earnestness  which  indi 
cates  sincerity. 

He  parted  from  us  not  till  late,  refusing  an  invitation 
to  spend  the  night  here,  but  readily  consented  to  repeat 
his  visit.  His  visits  were  frequently  repeated.  Each 
day  introduced  us  to  a  more  intimate  acquaintance  with 
his  sentiments,  but  left  us  wholly  in  the  dark  concerning 
that  about  which  we  were  most  inquisitive.  He  stu- 
90 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  9! 

diously  avoided  all  mention  of  his  past  or  present  situa 
tion.  Even  the  place  of  his  abode  in  the  city  he  con 
cealed  from  us. 

Our  sphere  in  this  respect  being  somewhat  limited, 
and  the  intellectual  endowments  of  this  man  being  indis 
putably  great,  his  deportment  was  more  diligently  marked 
and  copiously  commented  on  by  us  than  you,  perhaps, 
will  think  the  circumstances  warranted.  Not  a  gesture, 
or  glance,  or  accent,  that  was  not,  in  our  private  assem 
blies,  discussed,  and  inferences  deduced  from  it.  It  may 
well  be  thought  that  he  modelled  his  behaviour  by  an 
uncommon  standard,  when,  with  all  our  opportunities  and 
accuracy  of  observation,  we  were  able  for  a  long  time  to 
gather  no  satisfactory  information.  He  afforded  us  no 
ground  on  which  to  build  even  a  plausible  conjecture. 

There  is  a  degree  of  familiarity  which  takes  place  be 
tween  constant  associates,  that  justifies  the  negligence 
of  many  rules  of  which,  in  an  earlier  period  of  their  in 
tercourse,  politeness  requires  the  exact  observance.  In 
quiries  into  our  condition  are  allowable  when  they  are 
pi  ompted  by  a  disinterested  concern  for  our  welfare ; 
and  this  solicitude  is  not  only  pardonable,  but  may  justly 
be  demanded  from  those  who  choose  us  for  their  com 
panions.  This  state  of  things  was  more  slow  to  arrive 
at  on  this  occasion  than  on  most  others,  on  account  of 
the  gravity  and  loftiness  of  this  man's  behaviour. 

Pleyel,  however,  began  at  length  to  employ  regular 
means  for  this  end.  He  occasionally  alluded  to  the  cir 
cumstances  in  which  they  had  formerly  met,  and  re 
marked  the  incongruousness  between  the  religion  and 
habits  of  a  Spaniard  with  those  of  a  native  of  Britain. 
He  expressed  his  astonishment  at  meeting  our  guest  in 
this  corner  of  the  globe,  especially  as.  when  they  parted 
in  Spain,  he  was  taught  to  believe  that  Carwin  should 
never  leave  that  country.  He  insinuated  that  a  change 
so  great  must  have  been  prompted  by  motives  of  a  sin 
gular  and  momentous  kind. 

No  answer,  or  an  answer  wide  of  the  purpose,  was 
generally  made  to  these  insinuations.  Britons  and 
Spaniards,  he  said,  are  votaries  of  the  same  Deity,  and 
square  their  faith  by  the  same  precepts ;  their  ideas  are 


92  WIELAND;    OR, 

drawn  from  the  same  fountains  of  literature,  and  they 
speak  dialects  of  the  same  tongue;  their  government 
and  laws  have  more  resemblances  than  differences  ;  they 
were  formerly  provinces  of  the  same  civil,  and,  till 
lately,  of  the  same  religious,  empire. 

As  to  the  motives  which  induce  men  to  change  the 
place  of  their  abode,  these  must  unavoidably  be  fleeting 
and  mutable.  If  not  bound  to  one  spot  by  conjugal  or 
parental  ties,  or  by  the  nature  of  that  employment  to 
which  we  are  indebted  for  subsistence,  the  inducements 
to  change  are  far  more  numerous  and  powerful  than 
opposite  inducements. 

He  spoke  as  if  desirous  of  showing  that  he  was  not 
aware  of  the  tendency  of  Pleyel's  remarks ;  yet  certain 
tokens  were  apparent  that  proved  him  by  no  means  want 
ing  in  penetration.  These  tokens  were  to  be  read  in  his 
countenance,  and  not  in  his  words.  When  any  thing  was 
said  indicating  curiosity  in  us,  the  gloom  of  his  counte 
nance  was  deepened,  his  eyes  sunk  to  the  ground,  and 
his  wonted  air  was  not  resumed  without  visible  struggle. 
Hence,  it  was  obvious  to  infer  that  some  incidents  of  his 
life  were  reflected  on  by  him  with  regret ;  and  that,  since 
these  incidents  were  carefully  concealed,  and  even  that 
regret  which  flowed  from  them  laboriously  stifled,  they 
had  not  been  merely  disastrous.  The  secrecy  that  was 
observed  appeared  not  designed  to  provoke  or  baffle  the 
inquisitive,  but  was  prompted  by  the  shame  or  by  the 
prudence  of  guilt. 

These  ideas,  which  were  adopted  by  Pleyel  and  my 
brother  as  well  as  myself,  hindered  us  from  employing 
more  direct  means  for  accomplishing  our  wishes.  Ques 
tions  might  have  been  put  in  such  terms  that  no  room 
should  be  left  for  the  pretence  of  misapprehension ;  and, 
if  modesty  merely  had  been  the  obstacle,  such  questions 
would  not  have  been  wanting  ;  but  we  considered  that, 
if  the  disclosure  were  productive  of  pain  or  disgrace,  it 
was  inhuman  to  extort  it. 

Amidst  the  various  topics  that  were  discussed  in  his 
presence,  allusions  were,  of  course,  made  to  the  inexpli 
cable  events  that  had  lately  happened.  At  those  times 
the  words  and  looks  of  this  man  were  objects  of  my  par- 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  93 

ticular  attention.  The  subject  was  extraordinary ;  and 
any  one  whose  experience  or  reflections  could  throw  any 
light  upon  it  was  entitled  to  my  gratitude.  As  this  man 
was  enlightened  by  reading  and  travel,  I  listened  with 
eagerness  to  the  remarks  which  he  should  make. 

At  first  I  entertained  a  kind  of  apprehension  that  the 
tale  would  be  heard  by  him  with  incredulity  and  secret 
ridicule.  I  had  formerly  heard  stories  that  resembled  this 
in  some  of  their  mysterious  circumstances ;  but  they  were 
commonly  heard  by  me  with  contempt.  I  was  doubtful 
whether  the  same  impression  would  not  now  be  made  on 
the  mind  of  our  guest;  but  I  was  mistaken  in  my 
fears. 

He  heard  them  with  seriousness,  and  without  any  marks 
either  of  surprise  or  incredulity.  He  pursued  with  visible 
pleasure  that  kind  of  disquisition  which  was  naturally 
suggested  by  them.  His  fancy  was  eminently  vigorous 
and  prolific ;  and.  if  he  did  not  persuade  us  that  human 
beings  are  sometimes  admitted  to  a  sensible  intercourse 
with  the  Author  of  nature,  he  at  least  won  over  our  in 
clination  to  the  cause.  He  merely  deduced,  from  his  own 
reasonings,  that  such  intercourse  was  probable,  but  con 
fessed  that,  though  he  was  acquainted  with  many  instances 
somewhat  similar  to  those  which  had  been  related  by  us, 
none  of  them  were  perfectly  exempted  from  the  suspicion 
of  human  agency. 

On  being  requested  to  relate  these  instances,  he  amused 
us  with  many  curious  details.  His  narratives  were  con 
structed  with  so  much  skill,  and  rehearsed  with  so  much 
energy,  that  all  the  effects  of  a  dramatic  exhibition  were 
frequently  produced  by  them.  Those  that  were  most  co 
herent  and  most  minute,  and,  of  consequence,  least  entitled 
to  credit,  were  yet  rendered  probable  by  the  exquisite  art 
of  this  rhetorician.  For  every  difficulty  that  was  sug- 

fested  a  ready  and  plausible  solution  was  furnished. 
_lysterious  voices  had  always  a  share  in  producing  the 
catastrophe;  but  they  were  always  to  be  explained  on 
some  known  principles,  either  as  reflected  into  a  focus  or 
communicated  through  a  tube.  I  could  not  but  remark 
that  his  narratives,  however  complex  or  marvellous,  con 
tained  no  instance  sufficiently  parallel  to  those  that  had 


94  WIELAND;    OR, 

befallen  ourselves,  and  in  which  the  solution  was  applicable 
to  our  own  case. 

My  brother  was  a  much  more  sanguine  reasoner  than 
our  guest.  Even  in  some  of  the  facts  which  were  related 
by  Carwin,  he  maintained  the  probability  of  celestial  in 
terference,  when  the  latter  was  disposed  to  deny  it,  and 
had  found,  as  he  imagined,  footsteps  of  a  human  agent. 
Pleyel  was  by  no  means  equally  credulous.  He  scrupled 
not  to  deny  faith  to  any  testimony  but  that  of  his  senses, 
and  allowed  the  facts  which  had  lately  been  supported  by 
this  testimony  not  to  mould  his  belief,  but  merely  to  give 
birth  to  doubts. 

It  was  soon  observed  that  Carwin  adopted,  in  some  de 
gree,  a  similar  distinction.  A  tale  of  this  kind,  related 
by  others,  he  would  believe,  provided  it  was  explicable  upon 
known  principles;  but  that  such  notices  wTere  actually 
communicated  by  beings  of  a  higher  order  he  would  believe 
only  when  his  own  ears  were  assailed  in  a  manner  which 
could  not  be  otherwise  accounted  for.  Civility  forbade 
him  to  contradict  my  brother  or  myself,  but  his  under 
standing  refused  to  acquiesce  in  our  testimony.  Besides, 
he  was  disposed  to  question  whether  the  voices  heard  in 
the  temple,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  in  my  closet,  were 
not  really  uttered  by  human  organs.  On  this  supposition 
he  was  desired  to  explain  how  the  effect  was  produced. 

He  answered  that  the  power  of  mimicry  was  very  com 
mon.  Catharine's  voice  might  easily  be  imitated  by  one 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  who  would  find  no  difficulty  in 
eluding  by  flight  the  search  of  Wieland.  The  tidings  of 
the  death  of  the  Saxon  lady  were  uttered  by  one  near  at 
hand,  who  overheard  the  conversation,  who  conjectured 
her  death,  and  whose  conjecture  happened  to  accord  with 
the  truth.  That  the  voice  appeared  to  come  from  the 
ceiling  was  to  be  considered  as  an  illusion  of  the  fancy. 
The  cry  for  help,  heard  in  the  hall  on  the  night  of  my 
adventure,  was  to  be  ascribed  to  a  human  creature,  who 
actually  stood  in  the  hall  when  he  uttered  it.  It  was  of 
no  moment,  he  said,  that  we  could  not  explain  by  what 
motives  he  that  made  the  signal  was  led  hither.  How 
imperfectly  acquainted  were  we  with  the  condition  and 
designs  of  the  beings  that  surrounded  us !  The  city  wag. 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  95 

near  at  hand,  and  thousands  might  there  exist  whose 
powers  and  purposes  might  easily  explain  whatever  was 
mysterious  in  this  transaction.  As  to  the  closet  dialogue, 
he  was  obliged  to  adopt  one  of  two  suppositions,  and 
affirm  either  that  it  was  fashioned  in  my  own  fancy,  or  that 
it  actually  took  place  between  two  persons  in  the  closet. 

Such  was  Carwin's  mode  of  explaining  these  appear 
ances.  It  is  such,  perhaps,  as  would  commend  itself  as 
most  plausible  to  the  most  sagacious  minds ;  but  it  was 
insufficient  to  impart  conviction  to  us.  As  to  the  treason 
that  was  meditated  against  me,  it  was  doubtless  just  to 
conclude  that  it  was  either  real  or  imaginary ;  but  that 
it  was  real  was  attested  by  the  mysterious  warning  in  the 
summer-house,  the  secret  of  which  I  had  hitherto  locked 
up  in  my  own  breast. 

A  month  passed  away  in  this  kind  of  intercourse.  As 
to  Carwin,  our  ignorance  was  in  no  degree  enlightened  re 
specting  his  genuine  character  and  views.  Appearances 
were  uniform.  No  man  possessed  a  larger  store  of  know 
ledge,  or  a  greater  degree  of  skill  in  the  communication  of 
it  to  others ;  hence  he  was  regarded  as  an  inestimable  ad 
dition  to  our  society.  Considering  the  distance  of  my 
brother's  house  from  the  city,  he  was  frequently  prevailed 
upon  to  pass  the  night  where  he  spent  the  evening.  Two 
days  seldom  elapsed  without  a  visit  from  him ;  hence  he 
was  regarded  as  a  kind  of  inmate  of  the  house.  He 
entered  and  departed  without  ceremony.  When  he 
arrived  he  received  an  unaffected  welcome,  and  when  he 
chose  to  retire  no  importunities  were  used  to  induce  him 
to  remain. 

The  temple  was  the  principal  scene  of  our  social  enjoy 
ments  ;  yet  the  felicity  that  we  tasted  when  assembled  in 
this  asylum  was  but  the  gleam  of  a  former  sunshine. 
Carwin  never  parted  with  his  gravity.  The  inscrutable- 
ness  of  his  character,  and  the  uncertainty  whether  his 
fellowship  tended  to  good  or  to  evil,  were  seldom  absent 
from  our  minds.  This  circumstance  powerfully  con 
tributed  to  sadden  us. 

My  heart  was  the  seat  of  growing  disquietudes.  This 
change  in  one  who  had  formerly  been  characterized  by  all 
the  exuberances  of  soul  could  not  fail  to  be  remarked  by 


96  WIELAND. 

my  friends.  My  brother  was  always  a  pattern  of  solemnity. 
My  sister  was  clay,  moulded  by  the  circumstances  in  which 
she  happened  to  be  placed.  There  was  but  one  whose  de 
portment  remains  to  be  described  as  being  of  importance 
to  our  happiness.  Had  Pleyel  likewise  dismissed  his 
vivacity  ? 

He  was  as  whimsical  and  jestful  as  ever,  but  he  was  not 
happy.  The  truth  in  this  respect  was  of  too  much  im 
portance  to  me  not  to  make  me  a  vigilant  observer.  His 
mirth  was  easily  perceived  to  be  the  fruit  of  exertion. 
When  his  thoughts  wandered  from  the  company,  an  air 
of  dissatisfaction  and  impatience  stole  across  his  features. 
Even  the  punctuality  and  frequency  of  his  visits  were  some 
what  lessened.  It  may  be  supposed  that  my  own  uneasi 
ness  was  heightened  by  these  tokens;  but,  strange  as 
it  may  seem,  I  found,  in  the  present  state  of  my 
mind,  no  relief  but  in  the  persuasion  that  Pleyel  was 
unhappy. 

That  unhappiness,  indeed,  depended  for  its  value  in  my 
eyes  on  the  cause  that  produced  it.     It  did  not  arise  from 
the  death  of  the  Saxon  lady ;  it  was  not  a  contagious  ema 
nation  from  the  countenances  of  Wieland  or  Carwin. 
j  There  was  but  one  other  source  whence  it  could  flow.     A 
,  nameless  ecstasy  thrilled  through  my  frame  when  any 
i  new  proof  occurred  that  the  ambiguousness  of  my  be- 
(  haviour  was  the  cause. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MY  brother  had  received  a  new  book  from  Germany. 
It  was  a  tragedy,  and  the  first  attempt  of  a  Saxon  poet 
of  whom  my  brother  had  been  taught  to  entertain  the  high 
est  expectations.  The  exploits  of  Zisca,  the  Bohemian 
hero,  were  woven  into  a  dramatic  series  and  connection. 
According  to  German  custom,  it  was  minute  and  diffuse, 
and  dictated  by  an  adventurous  and  lawless  fancy.  It 
was  a  chain  of  audacious  acts  and  unheard-of  disasters. 
The  moated  fortress  and  the  thicket,  the  ambush  and  the 
battle,  and  the  conflict  of  headlong  passions,  were 
portrayed  in  wild  numbers  and  with  terrific  energy.  An 
afternoon  was  set  apart  to  rehearse  this  performance. 
The  language  was  familiar  to  all  of  us  but  Carwin,  whose 
company,  therefore,  was  tacitly  dispensed  with. 

The  morning  previous  to  this  intended  rehearsal  I 
spent  at  home.  My  mind  was  occupied  with  reflections 
relative  to  my  own  situation.  The  sentiment  which  lived 
with  chief  energy  in  my  heart  was  connected  with  the 
image  of  Pleyel.  In  the  midst  of  my  anguish,  I  had  not 
been  destitute  of  consolation.  His  late  deportment  had 
given  spring  to  my  hopes.  Was  not  the  hour  at  hand 
which  should  render  me  the  happiest  of  human  creatures  ? 
He  suspected  that  I  looked  with  favourable  eyes  upon 
Carwin.  Hence  arose  disquietudes  which  he  struggled 
in  vain  to  conceal.  He  loved  me,  but  was  hopeless  that 
his  love  would  be  compensated.  Is  it  not  time,  said  I, 
to  rectify  this  error  ?  But  by  what  means  is  this  to  be  ef 
fected  ?  It  can  only  be  done  by  a  change  of  deportment 
in  me ;  but  how  must  I  demean  myself  for  this  purpose  ? 

I  must  not  speak.  Neither  eyes  nor  lips  must  impart 
the  information.  He  must  not  be  assured  that  my  heart 
is  his,  previous  to  the  tender  of  his  own ;  but  he  must 
7  97 


98  WIELAND;    OR, 

be  convinced  that  it  has  not  been  given  to  another ;  he 
must  be  supplied  with  space  whereon  to  build  a  doubt  as 
to  the  true  state  of  my  affections ;  he  must  be  prompted 
to  avow  himself.  The  line  of  delicate  propriety, — how 
hard  it  is  not  to  fall  short,  and  not  to  overleap  it ! 
^2 This  afternoon  we  shall  meet  at  the  temple.  We  shall 
not  separate  till  late.  It  will  be  his  province  to  accom 
pany  me  home.  The  airy  expanse  is  without  a  speck. 
This  breeze  is  usually  steadfast,  and  its  promise  of  a 
bland  and  cloudless  evening  may  be  trusted.  The  moon 
will  rise  at  eleven,  and  at  that  hour  we  shall  wind  along 
this  bank.  Possibly  that  hour  may  decide  my  fate.  If 
suitable  encouragement  be  given,  Pleyel  will  reveal  his 
soul  to  me ;  and  I,  ere  I  reach  this  threshold,  will  be 
made  the  happiest  of  beings. 

And  is  this  good  to  be  mine  ?  Add  wings  to  thy 
speed,  sweet  evening ;  and  thou,  moon,  I  charge  thee, 
shroud  thy  beams  at  the  moment  when  my  Pleyel  whis 
pers  love.  I  would  not  for  the  world  that  the  burning 
blushes  and  the  mounting  raptures  of  that  moment  should 
be  visible. 

But  what  encouragement  is  wanting  ?  I  must  be  re 
gardful  of  insurmountable  limits.  Yet,  when  minds  are 
imbued  with  a  genuine  sympathy,  are  not  words  and 
looks  superfluous  ?  Are  not  motion  and  touch  sufficient 
to  impart  feelings  such  as  mine  ?  Has  he  not  eyed  me 
at  moments  when  the  pressure  of  his  hand  has  thrown 
me  into  tumults,  and  was  it  impossible  that  he  mistook 
the  impetuosities  of  love  for  the  eloquence  of  indignation  ? 

But  the  hastening  evening  will  decide.  Would  it  were 
come !  And  yet  I  shudder  at  its  near  approach.  An 
interview  that  must  thus  terminate  is  surely  to  be  wished 
for  by  me  ;  and  yet  it  is  not  without  its  terrors.  Would 
to  heaven  it  were  come  and  gone ! 

I  feel  no  reluctance,  my  friends,  to  be  thus  explicit. 
Time  was,  when  these  emotions  would  be  hidden  with 
immeasurable  solicitude  from  every  human  eye.  Alas  ! 
these  airy  and  fleeting  impulses  of  shame  are  gone.  My 
scruples  were  preposterous  and  criminal.  They  are  bred 
in  all  hearts  by  a  perverse  and  vicious  education,  and 
they  would  still  have  maintained  their  place  in  my  heart, 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  99 

had  not  my  portion  been  set  in  misery.     My  errors  have 
taught  me  thus  much  wisdom: — that  those  sentiments \ 
•which  we  ought  not  to  disclose  it  is  criminal  to  harbojux^J 

It  was  proposed  to  begin  the  rehearsal  at  four  o'clock. 
I  counted  the  minutes  as  they  passed ;  their  flight  was  at 
once  too  rapid  and  too  slow:  my  sensations  were  of  an 
excruciating  kind ;  I  could  taste  no  food,  nor  apply  to 
any  task,  nor  enjoy  a  moment's  repose ;  when  the  hour 
arrived  I  hastened  to  my  brother's. 

Pleyel  was  not  there.  He  had  not  yet  come.  On 
ordinary  occasions  he  was  eminent  for  punctuality.  He 
had  testified  great  eagerness  to  share  in  the  pleasures  of 
this  rehearsal.  He  was  to  divide  the  task  with  my  bro 
ther,  and  in  tasks  like  these  he  always  engaged  with  pe 
culiar  zeal.  His  elocution  was  less  sweet  than  sonorous, 
and,  therefore,  better  adapted  than  the  mellifluences  of 
his  friend  to  the  outrageous  vehemence  of  this  drama. 

What  could  detain  him  ?  Perhaps  he  lingered  through 
forgetfulness.  Yet  this  was  incredible.  Never  had  his 
memory  been  known  to  fail  upon  even  more  trivial  occa 
sions.  Not  less  impossible  was  it  that  the  scheme  had 
lost  its  attractions,  and  that  he  stayed  because  his  coming 
would  afford  him  no  gratification.  But  wrhy  should  we 
expect  him  to  adhere  to  the  minute  ? 

A  half-hour  elapsed,  but  Pleyel  was  still  at  a  distance. 
Perhaps  he  had  misunderstood  the  hour  which  had  been 
proposed.  Perhaps  he  had  conceived  that  to-morrow, 
and  not  to-day,  had  been  selected  for  this  purpose ;  but 
no.  A  review  of  preceding  circumstances  demonstrated 
that  such  misapprehension  was  impossible ;  for  he  had 
himself  proposed  this  day,  and  this  hour.  This  day  his 
attention  would  not  otherwise  be  occupied ;  but  to-morrow 
an  indispensable  engagement  was  foreseen,  by  which  all 
his  time  would  be  engrossed;  his  detention,  therefore, 
must  be  owing  to  some  unforeseen  and  extraordinary 
event.  Our  conjectures  were  vague,  tumultuous,  and 
sometimes  fearful.  His  sickness  and  his  death  might 
possibly  have  detained  him. 

Tortured  with  suspense,  we  sat  gazing  at  each  other, 
and  at  the  path  which  led  from  the  road.  Every  horse 
man  that  passed  was,  for  a  moment,  imagined  to  be  him. 


IOO  W IE  LAND;    OR, 

Hour  succeeded  hour,  and  the  sun,  gradually  declining, 
at  length  disappeared.  Every  signal  of  his  coming 
proved  fallacious,  and  our  hopes  were  at  length  dis 
missed.  His  absence  affected  my  friends  in  no  insup 
portable  degree.  They  should  be  obliged,  they  said,  to 
defer  this  undertaking  till  the  morrow;  and  perhaps 
their  impatient  curiosity  would  compel  them  to  dispense 
entirely  with  his  presence.  No  doubt  some  harmless 
occurrence  had  diverted  him  from  his  purpose ;  and  they 
trusted  that  they  should  receive  a  satisfactory  account  of 
him  in  the  morning. 

It  may  be  supposed  that  this  disappointment  affected 
me  in  a  very  different  manner.  I  turned  aside  my  head 
to  conceal  my  tears.  I  fled  into  solitude,  to  give  vent  to 
my  reproaches  without  interruption  or  restraint.  My 
heart  was  ready  to  burst  with  indignation  and  grief. 
Plcyel  was  not  the  only  object  of  my  keen  but  unjust 
upbraiding.  Deeply  did  I  execrate  my  own  folly.  Thus 
fallen  into  ruins  was  the  gay  fabric  which  I  had  reared ! 
Thus  had  my  golden  vision  melted  into  air ! 

How  fondly  did  I  dream  that  Pleyel  was  a  lover !  If 
he  were,  would  he  have  suffered  any  obstacle  to  hinder 
his  coming  ?  "  Blind  and  infatuated  man  !"  I  exclaimed. 
"  Thou  sportest  with  happiness.  The  good  that  is  offered 
thee  thou  hast  the  insolence  and  folly  to  refuse.  Well, 
I  wrill  henceforth  intrust  my  felicity  to  no  one's  keeping 
but  my  own." 

The  first  agonies  of  this  disappointment  would  not 
allow  me  to  be  reasonable  or  just.  Every  ground  on 
which  I  had  built  the  persuasion  that  Pleyel  was  not 
unimpressed  in  my  favour  appeared  to  vanish.  It  seemed 
as  if  I  had  been  misled  into  this  opinion  by  the  most 
palpable  illusions. 

I  made  some  trifling  excuse,  and  returned,  much  earlier 
than  I  expected,  to  my  own  house.  I  retired  early  to 
my  chamber,  without  designing  to  sleep.  I  placed  my 
self  at  a  window,  and  gave  the  reins  to  reflection. 

The  hateful  and  degrading  impulses  which  had  lately 
.,  $&y*  controlled  me  were,  in  some  degree,  removed.  New 
dejection  succeeded,  but  was  now  produced  by  contem 
plating  my  late  behaviour.  Surely  that  passion  is  worthy 

' ' 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  IOI 

to    be    abhorred    which    obscures    our    understanding 
and  urges  us  to  the  commission  of   injustice.     What 
right  had  I  to  expect  his  attendance  ?     Had  I  not  de 
meaned  myself  like  one  indifferent  to  his  happiness,  and 
as  having  bestowed  my  regards  upon  another  ?     His  ab 
sence  might  be  prompted  by  the  love  which  I  considered 
his  absence  as  a  proof  that  he  wanted.     He  came  not 
because  the  sight  of  me,  the  spectacle  of  my^coldness  or_ 
aversion,  contributed  to  Tiis  despair!     Why  should  1  pro-  7 
long,  by  hypocrisy  or  silence,  his  misery  as  well  as  my  , 
own  ?     Why  not  deal  with  him  explicitly,  and  assure 
him  of  the  truth  ? 

You  will  hardly  believe  that,  in  obedience  to  this  sug 
gestion,  I  rose  for  the  purpose  of  ordering  a  light,  that 
I  might  instantly  make  this  confession  in  a  letter.  A 
second  thought  showed  me  the  rashness  of  this  scheme, 
and  I  wondered  by  what  infirmity  of  mind  I  could  be 
betrayed  into  a  momentary  approbation  of  it.  I  saw")  ~  ^ 
with  the  utmost  clearness  that  a  confession  like  that  S 


would  be  the  most  remediless  and  unpardonable  outrage 
upon  the  dignity  of  my  sex,  and  utterly  unworthy  of 
that  passion  which  controlled  me. 

I  resumed  my  seat  and  my  musing.  To  account  for 
the  absence  of  Pleyel  became  once  more  the  scope  of  my 
conjectures.  How  many  incidents  might  occur  to  raise 
an  insuperable  impediment  in  his  way  !  When  I  was  a 
child,  a  scheme  of  pleasure,  in  which  he  and  his  sister 
were  parties,  had  been  in  like  manner  frustrated  by  his 
absence  ;  but  his  absence,  in  that  instance,  had  been  occa 
sioned  by  his  falling  from  a  boat  into  the  river,  in  conse 
quence  of  which  he  had  run  the  most  imminent  hazard 
of  being  drowned.  Here  was  a  second  disappointment 
endured  by  the  same  persons,  and  produced  by  his  fail 
ure.  Might  it  not  originate  in  the  same  cause  ?  Had 
he  not  designed  to  cross  the  river  that  morning  to  make 
some  necessary  purchases  in  New  Jersey  ?  He  had  pre 
concerted  to  return  to  his  own  house  to  dinner;  but  per 
haps  some  disaster  had  befallen  him.  Experience  had 
taught  me  the  insecurity  of  a  canoe,  and  that  was  the 
only  kind  of  boat  which  Pleyel  used;  I  was,  likewise, 
actuated  by  an  hereditary  dread  of  water.  These  cir- 


** 


102  WIELAND;    OR, 

cumstances  combined  to  bestow  considerable  plausibility 
on  this  conjecture ;  but  the  consternation  with  which  I 
began  to  be  seized  was  allayed  by  reflecting  that,  if  this 
disaster  had  happened,  my  brother  would  have  received 
the  speediest  information  of  it.  The  consolation  which 
this  idea  imparted  was  ravished  from  me  by  a  now 
thought.  This  disaster  might  have  happened,  and  his 
family  not  be  apprized  of  it.  The  first  intelligence  of 
his  fate  may  be  communicated  by  the  livid  corpse  which 
the  tide  may  cast,  many  days  hence,  upon  the  shore. 

Thus  was  I  distressed  by  opposite  conjectures ;  thus 
was  I  tormented  by  phantoms  of  my  own  creation.  It 
was  not  always  thus.  I  can  ascertain  the  date  when  my 
mind  became  the  victim  of  this  imbecility;  perhaps  it 
was  coeval  with  the  inroad  of  a  fatal  passion, — a  passion 
that  will  never  rank  me  in  the  number  of  its  eulogists ; 
it  was  alone  sufficient  to  the  extermination  of  my  peace ; 
it  was  itself  a  plenteous  source  of  calamity,  and  needed 
not  the  concurrence  of  other  evils  to  take  away  the  at 
tractions  of  existence  and  dig  for  me  an  untimely  grave. 

The  state  of  my  mind  naturally  introduced  a  train  of 
reflections  upon  the  dangers  and  cares  which  inevitably 
beset  a  human  being.  By  no  violent  transition  was  I  led 
to  ponder  on  the  turbulent  life  and  mysterious  end  of 
my  father.  I  cherished  with  the  utmost  veneration  the 
memory  of  this  man,  and  every  relic  connected  with 
his  fate  was  preserved  with  the  most  scrupulous  care. 
Among  these  was  to  be  numbered  a  manuscript  contain 
ing  memoirs  of  his  own  life.  The  narrative  was  by  no 
means  recommended  by  its  eloquence ;  but  neither  did 
all  its  value  flow  from  my  relationship  to  the  author.  Its 
style  had  an  unaffected  and  picturesque  simplicity.  The 
great  variety  and  circumstantial  display  of  the  incidents, 
together  with  their  intrinsic  importance  as  descriptive 
of  human  manners  and  passions,  made  it  the  most  useful 
book  in  my  collection.  It  was  late :  but,  being  sensible 
of  no  inclination  to  sleep,  I  resolved  to  betake  myself 
to  the  perusal  of  it. 

To  do  this,  it  was  requisite  to  procure  a  light.  The  girl 
had  long  since  retired  to  her  chamber :  it  was  therefore 
proper  to  wait  upon  myself.  A  lamp,  and  the  means  of 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  103 

lighting  it,  were  only  to  be  found  in  the  kitchen.  Thither 
I  resolved  forthwith  to  repair ;  but  the  light  was  of  use 
merely  to  enable  me  to  read  the  book.  I  knew  the  shelf 
and  the  spot  where  it  stood.  Whether  I  took  doAvn  the 
book,  or  prepared  the  lamp  in  the  first  place,  appeared 
to  be  a  matter  of  no  moment.  The  latter  was  preferred, 
and,  leaving  my  scat,  I  approached  the  closet  in  which, 
as  I  mentioned  formerly,  my  books  and  papers  were 
deposited. 

Suddenly  the  remembrance  of  what  had  lately  passed 
in  this  closet  occurred.  Whether  midnight  was  ap 
proaching,  or  had  passed,  I  knew  not.  I  was,  as  then, 
alone  and  defenceless.  The  wind  was  in  that  direction 
in  which,  aided  by  the  deathlike  repose  of  nature,  it 
brought  to  me  the  murmur  of  the  waterfall.  This  was 
mingled  with  that  solemn  and  enchanting  sound  which  a 
breeze  produces  among  the  leaves  of  pines.  The  words 
of  that  mysterious  dialogue,  their  fearful  import,  and  the 
wild  excess  to  which  I  was  transported  by  my  terrors, 
filled  my  imagination  anew.  My  steps  faltered,  and  I 
stood  a  moment  to  recover  myself. 

I  prevailed  on  myself  at  length  to  move  towards  the 
closet.  I  touched  the  lock,  but  my  fingers  were  power 
less  ;  I  was  visited  afresh  by  unconquerable  apprehen 
sions.  A  sort  of  belief  darted  into  my  mind  that  some 
being  was  concealed  within  whose  purposes  were  evil.  I 
began  to  contend  with  those  fears,  when  it  occurred  to 
me  that  I  might,  without  impropriety,  go  for  a  lamp  pre 
viously  to  opening  the  closet.  I  receded  a  few  steps ; 
but  before  I  reached  the  chamber  door  my  thoughts  took 
a  new  direction.  Motion  seemed  to  produce  a  mechanical 
influence  upon  me.  I  was  ashamed  of  my  weakness. 
Besides,  what  aid  could  be  afforded  me  by  a  lamp  ? 

My  fears  had  pictured  to  themselves  no  precise  object. 
It  would  be  difficult  to  depict  in  words  the  ingredients 
and  hues  of  that  phantom  which  haunted  me.  A  hand 
invisible  and  of  preternatural  strength,  lifted  by  human 
passions,  and  selecting  my  life  for  its  aim,  were  parts  of 
this  terrific  image.  All  places  were  alike  accessible  to 
this  foe;  or,  if  his  empire  were  restricted  by  local 
bounds,  those  bounds  were  utterly  inscrutable  by  me. 


IO4  WIELAND;    OR, 

But  had  I  not  been  told,  by  some  one  in  league  with  this 
enemy,  that  every  place  but  the  recess  in  the  bank  was 
exempt  from  danger  ? 

I  returned  to  the  closet,  and  once  more  put  my  hand 
upon  the  lock.  Oh,  may  my  ears  lose  their  sensibility 
ere  they  be  again  assailed  by  a  shriek  so  terrible  !  Not 
merely  my  understanding  was  subdued  by  the  sound ;  it 
acted  on  my  nerves  like  an  edge  of  steel.  It  appeared 
to  cut  asunder  the  fibres  of  my  brain  and  rack  every 
joint  with  agony. 

The  cry,  loud  and  piercing  as  it  was,  was  nevertheless 
human.  No  articulation  was  ever  more  distinct.  The 
breath  which  accompanied  it  did  not  fan  my  hair,  yet 
did  every  circumstance  combine  to  persuade  me  that  the 
lips  which  uttered  it  touched  my  very  shoulder. 

"  Hold !  hold !"  were  the  words  of  this  tremendous 
prohibition,  in  whose  tone  the  whole  soul  seemed  to  be 
wrapped  up,  and  every  energy  converted  into  eagerness 
and  terror. 

Shuddering,  I  dashed  myself  against  the  wall,  and, 
by  the  same  involuntary  impulse,  turned  my  face  back 
ward  to  examine  the  mysterious  monitor.  The  moon 
light  streamed  into  each  window,  and  every  corner  of  the 
room  was  conspicuous,  and  yet  I  beheld  nothing  ! 

The  interval  was  too  brief  to  be  artificially  measured, 
between  the  utterance  of  these  words  and  my  scrutiny 
directed  to  the  quarter  whence  they  came.  Yet,  if  a 
human  being  had  been  there,  could  he  fail  to  have  been 
visible  ?  Which  of  my  senses  was  the  prey  of  a  fatal 
illusion  ?  The  shock  which  the  sound  produced  was  still 
felt  in  every  part  of  my  frame.  The  sound,  therefore, 
could  not  but  be  a  genuine  commotion.  But  that  I 
had  heard  it  was  not  more  true  than  that  the  being  who 
uttered  it  was  stationed  at  my  right  ear ;  yet  my  attend 
ant  was  invisible. 

I  cannot  describe  the  state  of  my  thoughts  at  that 
moment.  Surprise  had  mastered  my  faculties.  My 
frame  shook,  and  the  vital  current  was  congealed.  I 
was  conscious  only  to  the  vehemence  of  my  sensations. 
This  condition  could  not  be  lasting.  Like  a  tide,  which 
suddenly  mounts  to  an  overwhelming  height  and  then 


THE   TRANSFORMATION.  105 

gradually  subsides,  my  confusion  slowly  gave  place  to 
order,  and  my  tumults  to  a  calm.  I  was  able  to  delibe 
rate  and  move.  I  resumed  my  feet,  and  advanced  into 
the  midst  of  the  room.  Upward,  and  behind,  and  on 
each  side,  I  threw  penetrating  glances.  I  was  not  satis 
fied  with  one  examination.  He  that  hitherto  refused 
to  be  seen  might  change  his  purpose,  and  on  the  next 
survey  be  clearly  distinguishable. 

Solitude  imposes  least  restraint  upon  the  fancy.  Dark 
is  less  fertile  of  images  than  the  feeble  lustre  of  the 
moon.  I  was  alone,  and  the  walls  were  checkered  by 
shadowy  forms.  As  the  moon  passed  behind  a  cloud 
and  emerged,  these  shadows  seemed  to  be  endowed  with 
life,  and  to  move.  The  apartment  was  open  to  the 
breeze,  and  the  curtain  was  occasionally  blown  from  its 
ordinary  position.  This  motion  was  not  unaccompanied 
with  sound.  I  failed  not  to  snatch  a  look  and  to  listen 
when  this  motion  and  this  sound  occurred.  My  belief 
that  my  monitor  was  posted  near  was  strong,  and  in 
stantly  converted  these  appearances  to  tokens  of  his 
presence ;  and  yet  I  could  discern  nothing. 

When  my  thoughts  were  at  length  permitted  to  revert 
to  the  past,  the  first  idea  that  occurred  was  the  resem 
blance  between  the  words  of  the  voice  which  I  had  just 
heard  and  those  which  had  terminated  my  dream  in  the 
summer-house.  There  are  means  by  which  we  are  able 
to  distinguish  a  substance  from  a  shadow,  a  reality  from 
the  phantom  of  a  dream.  The  pit,  my  brother  beckon 
ing  me  forward,  the  seizure  of  my  arm,  and  the  voice 
behind,  were  surely  imaginary.  That  these  incidents 
were  fashioned  in  my  sleep  is  supported  by  the  same 
indubitable  evidence  that  compels  me  to  believe  myself 
awake  at  present ;  yet  the  words  and  the  voice  were  the 
same.  Then,  by  some  inexplicable  contrivance,  I  was 
aware  of  the  danger,  while  my  actions  and  sensations 
were  those  of  one  wholly  unacquainted  with  it.  Now, 
was  it  not  equally  true  that  my  actions  and  persuasions 
were  at  war?  Had  not  the  belief  that  evil  lurked  in 
the  closet  gained  admittance,  and  had  not  my  actions 
betokened  an  unwarrantable  security?  To  obviate  the 
effects  of  my  infatuation,  the  same  means  had  been  used. 


106  WIELAND;    OR, 

In  my  dream,  lie  that  tempted  me  to  my  destruction 
was  my  brother.  Death  was  ambushed  in  my  path. 
From  what  evil  was  I  now  rescued  ?  What  minister  or 
implement  of  ill  was  shut  up  in  this  recess  ?  Who  was 
it  whose  suffocating  grasp  I  was  to  feel  should  I  dare 
to  enter  it?  What  monstrous  conception  is  this?  My 
brother  ? 

No ;  protection,  and  not  injury,  is  his  province. 
Strange  and  terrible  chimera !  Yet  it  would  not  be  sud 
denly  dismissed.  It  was  surely  no  vulgar  agency  that 
gave  this  form  to  my  fears.  He  to  whom  all  parts  of 
time  are  equally  present,  whom  no  contingency  ap 
proaches,  was  the  author  of  that  spell  which  now  seized 
upon  me.  Life  was  dear  to  me.  No  consideration  was 
present  that  enjoined  me  to  relinquish  it.  Sacred  duty 
combined  with  every  spontaneous  sentiment  to  endear  to 
me  my  being.  Should  I  not  shudder  when  my  being 
was  endangered  ?  But  what  emotion  should  possess  me 
when  the  arm  lifted  against  me  was  Wieland's  ? 

Ideas  exist  in  our  minds  that  can  be  accounted  for  by 
no  established  laws.  Why  did  I  dream  that  my  brother 
.was  my  foe  ?  Why  but  because  an  omen  of  my  fate  was 
ordained  to  be  communicated  ?  Yet  what  salutary  end 
did  it  serve  ?  Did  it  arm  me  with  caution  to  elude  or 
fortitude  to  bear  the  evils  to  which  I  was  reserved  ?  My 
present  thoughts  were,  no  doubt,  indebted  for  their  hue 
to  the  similitude  existing  between  these  incidents  and 
those  of  my  dream.  Surely  it  was  frenzy  that  dictated 
my  deed.  That  a  ruffian  was  hidden  in  the  closet  was 
an  idea  the  genuine  tendency  of  which  was  to  urge  me 
to  flight.  Such  had  been  the  effect  formerly  produced. 
Had  my  mind  been  simply  occupied  with  this  thought  at 
present,  no  doubt  the  same  impulse  would  have  been  ex 
perienced  ;  but  now  it  was  my  brother  whom  I  was  irre 
sistibly  persuaded  to  regard  as  the  contriver  of  that  ill 
of  which  I  had  been  forewarned.  This  persuasion  did 
not  extenuate  my  fears  or  my  danger.  Why  then  did  I 
again  approach  the  closet  and  withdraw  the  bolt  ?  My 
resolution  was  instantly  conceived,  and  executed  without 
faltering. 

The  door  was  formed  of  light  materials.    The  lock,  of 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  IO/ 

simple  structure,  easily  forewent  its  hold.  It  opened  into 
the  room,  and  commonly  moved  upon  its  hinges,  after 
being  unfastened,  without  any  effort  of  mine.  This  effort, 
however,  was  bestowed  upon  the  present  occasion.  It 
was  my  purpose  to  open  it  with  quickness ;  but  the  ex 
ertion  which  I  made  was  ineffectual.  It  refused  to  open. 

At  another  time,  this  circumstance  would  not  have 
looked  with  a  face  of  mystery.  I  should  have  supposed 
some  casual  obstruction  and  repeated  my  efforts  to  sur 
mount  it.  But  now  my  mind  was  accessible  to  no  con 
jecture  but  one.  The  door  was  hindered  from  opening 
by  human  force.  Surely,  here  was  a  new  cause  for 
affright.  This  was  confirmation  proper  to  decide  my 
conduct.  Now  was  all  ground  of  hesitation  taken  away. 
What  could  be  supposed  but  that  I  deserted  the  chamber 
and  the  house  ?  that  I  at  least  endeavoured  no  longer 
to  withdraw  the  door  ? 

Have  I  not  said  that  my  actions  were  dictated  by 
frenzy  ?  My  reason  had  forborne,  for  a  time,  to  suggest 
or  to  sway  my  resolves.  I  reiterated  my  endeavours.  I 
exerted  all  my  force  to  overcome  the  obstacle,  but  in 
vain.  The  strength  that  was  exerted  to  keep  it  shut  was 
superior  to  mine. 

A  casual  observer  might,  perhaps,  applaud  the  auda 
ciousness  of  this  conduct.  Whence,  but  from  a  habitual 
defiance  of  danger,  could  my  perseverance  arise  ?  I  have 
already  assigned,  as  distinctly  as  I  am  able,  the  cause  of 
it.  The  frantic  conception  that  my  brother  was  within, 
that  the  resistance  made  to  my  design  was  exerted  by 
him,  had  rooted  itself  in  my  mind.  You  will  compre 
hend  the  height  of  this  infatuation,  when  I  tell  you  that, 
finding  all  my  exertions  vain,  I  betook  myself  to  excla 
mations.  Surely  I  was  utterly  bereft  of  understanding. 

Now  I  had  arrived  at  the  crisis  of  my  fate.  "  Oh, 
hinder  not  the  door  to  open,"  I  exclaimed,  in  a  tone 
that  had  less  of  fear  than  of  grief  in  it.  "I  know  you 
well.  Come  forth,  but  harm  me  not.  I  beseech  you, 
come  forth." 

I  had  taken  my  hand  from  the  lock  and  removed  to  a 
small  distance  from  the  door.  I  had  scarcely  uttered 
these  words,  when  the  door  swung  upon  its  hinges  and 


IO8  WIELAND;    OR, 

displayed  to  my  view  the  interior  of  the  closet.  Who 
ever  was  within  was  shrouded  in  darkness.  A  few 
seconds  passed  without  interruption  of  the  silence.  I 
knew  not  what  to  expect  or  to  fear.  My  eyes  would 
not  stray  from  the  recess.  Presently,  a  deep  sigh  was 
heard.  The  quarter  from  which  it  came  heightened  the 
eagerness  of  my  gaze.  Some  one  approached  from  the 
farther  end.  I  quickly  perceived  the  outlines  of  a  human 
figure.  Its  steps  were  irresolute  and  slow.  I  recoiled 
as  it  advanced. 

By  coming  at  length  within  the  verge  of  the  room,  his 
form  was  clearly  distinguishable.  I  had  prefigured  to 
myself  a  very  different  personage.  The  face  that  pre 
sented  itself  was  the  last  that  I  should  desire  to  meet  at 
an  hour  and  in  a  place  like  this.  My  wonder  was  stifled 
by  my  fears.  Assassins  had  lurked  in  this  recess.  Some 
divine  voice  warned  me  of  danger  that  at  this  moment 
awaited  me.  I  had  spurned  the  intimation,  and  chal 
lenged  my  adversary. 

I  recalled  the  mysterious  countenance  and  dubious 
character  of  Carwin.  What  motive  but  atrocious  ones 
could  guide  his  steps  hither?  I  was  alone.  My  habit 
suited  the  hour,  and  the  place,  and  the  warmth  of  the 
season.  All  succour  was  remote.  He  had  placed  him 
self  between  me  and  the  door.  My  frame  shook  with 
the  vehemence  of  my  apprehensions. 

Yet  I  was  not  wholly  lost  to  myself;  I  vigilantly 
marked  his  demeanour.  His  looks  were  grave,  but  not 
without  perturbation.  What  species  of  inquietude  it  be 
trayed  the  light  was  not  strong  enough  to  enable  me  to 
discover.  He  stood  still ;  but  his  eyes  wandered  from 
one  object  to  another.  When  these  powerful  organs  were 
fixed  upon  me,  I  shrunk  into  myself.  At  length  he  broke 
silence.  Earnestness,  and  not  embarrassment,  was  in  his 
tone.  He  advanced  close  to  me  while  he  spoke : — 

"  What  voice  was  that  which  lately  addressed  you?" 

He  paused  for  an  answer ;  but,  observing  my  trepida 
tion,  he  resumed,  with  undiminished  solemnity,  "  Be  not 
terrified.  Whoever  he  was,  he  has  done  you  an  import 
ant  service.  I  need  not  ask  you  if  it  were  the  voice  of 
a  companion..  That  sound  was  beyond  the  compass  of 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  109 

human  organs.  The  knowledge  that  enabled  him  to  tell 
you  who  was  in  the  closet  was  obtained  by  incompre 
hensible  means. 

"  You  knew  that  Carwin  was  there.  Were  you  not 
apprized  of  his  intents  ?  The  same  power  could  impart 
the  one  as  well  as  the  other.  Yet,  knowing  these,  you 
persisted.  Audacious  girl !  But  perhaps  you  confided  in 
his  guardianship.  Your  confidence  was  just.  With  suc 
cour  like  this  at  hand  you  may  safely  defy  me. 

"  He  is  my  eternal  foe ;  the  baffler  of  my  best-con 
certed  schemes.  Twice  have  you  been  saved  by  his  ac 
cursed  interposition.  But  for  him  I  should  long  ere  now 
have  borne  away  the  spoils  of  your  honour." 

He  looked  at  me  with  greater  steadfastness  than  before. 
I  became  every  moment  more  anxious  for  my  safety.  It 
was  with  difficulty  I  stammered  out  an  entreaty  that  he 
would  instantly  depart,  or  suffer  me  to  do  so.  He  paid 
no  regard  to  my  request,  but  proceeded  in  a  more  impas 
sioned  manner : — 

"  What  is  it  you  fear?  Have  I  not  told  you  you  are 
safe  ?  Has  not  one  in  whom  you  more  reasonably  place 
trust  assured  you  of  it  ?  Even  if  I  execute  my  purpose, 
what  injury  is  done?  Your  prejudices  will  call  it  by  that 
name,  but  it  merits  it  not. 

"I  was  impelled  by  a  sentiment  that  does  you  honour; 
a  sentiment  that  would  sanctify  my  deed ;  but,  whatever 
it  be,  you  are  safe.  Be  this  chimera  still  worshipped ;  I 
will  do  nothing  to  pollute  it."  There  he  stopped. 

The  accents  and  gestures  of  this  man  left  me  drained 
of  all  courage.  Surely,  on  no  other  occasion  should  I 
have  been  thus  pusillanimous.  My  state  I  regarded  as 
a  hopeless  one.  I  was  wholly  at  the  mercy  of  this  being. 
Whichever  way  I  turned  my  eyes,  I  saw  no  avenue  by 
which  I  might  escape.  The  resources  of  my  personal 
strength,  my  ingenuity,  and  my  eloquence,  I  estimated 
at  nothing.  The  dignity  of  virtue  and  the  force  of  truth 
I  had  been  accustomed  to  celebrate,  and  had  frequently 
vaunted  of  the  conquests  which  I  should  make  with  their 
assistance. 

I  used  to  suppose  that  certain  evils  could  never  befall 
a  being  in  possession  of  a  sound  mind ;  that  true  virtue 


IIO  WIELAND;    OR, 

supplies  us  with  energy  which  vice  can  never  resist ;  that 
it  was  always  in  our  power  to  obstruct,  by  his  own  death, 
the  designs  of  an  enemy  who  aimed  at  less  than  our  life. 
How  was  it  that  a  sentiment  like  despair  had  now  in 
vaded  me,  and  that  I  trusted  to  the  protection  of  chance, 
or  to  the  pity  of  my  persecutor  ? 

His  words  imparted  some  notion  of  the  injury  which 
he  had  meditated.  He  talked  of  obstacles  that  had  risen 
in  his  way.  He  had  relinquished  his  design.  These 
sources  supplied  me  with  slender  consolation.  There 
was  no  security  but  in  his  absence.  When  I  looked  at 
myself,  when  I  reflected  on  the  hour  and  the  place,  I  was 
overpowered  by  horror  and  dejection. 

He  was  silent,  museful,  and  inattentive  to  my  situa 
tion,  yet  made  no  motion  to  depart.  I  was  silent  in  my 
turn.  What  could  I  say?  I  was  confident  that  reason 
in  this  contest  would  be  impotent.  I  must  owe  my  safety 
to  his  own  suggestions.  Whatever  purpose  brought  him 
hither,  he  had  changed  it.  Why  then  did  he  remain  ? 
His  resolutions  might  fluctuate,  and  the  pause  of  a  few 
minutes  restore  to  him  his  first  resolutions. 

Yet  was  not  this  the  man  whom  we  had  treated  with 
unwearied  kindness  ?  whose  society  was  endeared  to  us 
by  his  intellectual  elevation  and  accomplishments  ?  who 
had  a  thousand  times  expatiated  on  the  usefulness  and 
beauty  of  virtue  ?  Why  should  such  a  one  be  dreaded  ? 
If  I  could  have  forgotten  the  circumstances  in  which  our 
interview  had  taken  place,  I  might  have  treated  his 
words  as  jests.  Presently,  he  resumed : — 

"Fear  me  not :  the  space  that  severs  us  is  small,  and 
all  visible  succour  is  distant.     You  believe  yourself  com 
pletely  in  my  power ;   that  you  stand  upon  the  brink  ofi 
ruin.     Such  are  your  groundless  fears.     I  cannot  lift 
finger  to  hurt  you.     Easier  would  it  be  to  stop  the  moc 
in  her  course  than  to  injure  you.     The  power  that  pro-  * 
tects  you  would  crumble  my  sinews  and  reduce  me  to  a 
heap  of  ashes  in  a  moment,  if  I  were  to  harbour  a  thought 
hostile  to  your  safety. 

"Thus  are  appearances  at  length  solved.  Little  did 
I  expect  that  they  originated  hence.  What  a  portion  is 
assigned  to  you !  Scanned  by  the  eyes  of  this  intelli- 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  Ill 

gence,  your  path  will  be  without  pits  to  swallow  or 
snares  to  entangle  you.  Environed  by  the  arms  of  this 
protection,  all  artifices  will  be  frustrated  and  all  malice 
repelled." 

Here  succeeded  a  new  pause.  I  was  still  observant 
of  every  gesture  and  look.  The  tranquil  solemnity  that 
had  lately  possessed  his  countenance  gave  way  to  a  new 
expression.  All  now  was  trepidation  and  anxiety. 

"I  must  be  gone,"  said  he,  in  a  faltering  accent. 
"Why  do  I  linger  here  ?  I  will  not  ask  your  forgiveness. 
I  see  that  your  terrors  are  invincible.  Your  pardon  will 
be  extorted  by  fear,  and  not  dictated  by  compassion.  I 
must  fly  from  you  forever.  He  that  could  plot  against 
your  honour  must  expect  from  you  and  your  friends 
persecution  and  death.  I  must  doom  myself  to  end 
less  exile." 

Saying  this,  he  hastily  left  the  room.  I  listened  while 
he  descended  the  stairs,  and,  unbolting  the  outer  door, 
went  forth.  I  did  not  follow  him  with  my  eyes,  as  the 
moonlight  would  have  enabled  me  to  do.  Relieved  by 
his  absence,  and  exhausted  by  the  conflict  of  my  fears, 
I  threw  myself  on  a  chair,  and  resigned  myself  to  those 
bewildering  ideas  which  incidents  like  these  could  not 
fail  to  produce. 


CHAPTER  X. 

ORDER  could  not  readily  be  introduced  into  my 
thoughts.  The  voice  still  rung  in  my  ears.  Every 
accent  that  was  uttered  by  Canvin  was  fresh  in  my  re 
membrance.  His  unwelcome  approach,  the  recognition 
of  his  person,  his  hasty  departure,  produced  a  complex 
impression  on  my  mind  which  no  words  can  delineate. 
I  strove  to  give  a  slower  motion  to  my  thoughts,  and  to 
regulate  a  confusion  which  became  painful;  but  my 
efforts  were  nugatory.  I  covered  my  eyes  with  my 
hand,  and  sat,  I  know  not  how  long,  without  power  to 
arrange  or  utter  my  conceptions. 

I  had  remained  for  hours,  as  I  believed,  in  absolute 
solitude.  No  thought  of  personal  danger  had  molested 
my  tranquillity.  I  had  made  no  preparation  for  defence. 
What  was  it  that  suggested  the  design  of  perusing  my 
father's  manuscript?  If,  instead  of  this,  I  had  retired 
to  bed  and  to  sleep,  to  what  fate  might  I  not  have  been 
reserved.  The  ruffian,  who  must  almost  have  suppressed 
his  breathings  to  screen  himself  from  discovery,  would 
have  noticed  this  signal,  and  I  should  have  awakened 
only  to  perish  with  affright,  and  to  abhor  myself.  Could 
I  have  remained  unconscious  of  my  danger  ?  Could  I 
have  tranquilly  slept  in  the  midst  of  so  deadly  a  snare  ? 

And  who  was  he  that  threatened  to  destroy  me  ?  By 
what  means  could  he  hide  himself  in  this  closet  ?  Surely 
he  is  gifted  with  supernatural  power.  Such  is  the  enemy 
of  whose  attempts  I  was  foreAvarned.  Daily  I  had  seen 
him  and  conversed  with  him.  Nothing  could  be  dis 
cerned  through  the  impenetrable  veil  of  his  duplicity. 
When  busied  in  conjectures  as  to  the  author  of  the  evil 
that  was  threatened,  my  mind  did  not  light  for  a  mo- 
112 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  113 

ment  upon  his  image.  Yet  has  he  not  avowed  himself 
my  enemy  ?  Why  should  he  be  here  if  he  had  not  medi 
tated  evil  ? 

He  confesses  that  this  has  been  his  second  attempt. 
What  was  the  scene  of  his  former  conspiracy?  Was  it 
not  he  whose  whispers  betrayed  him  ?  Am  I  deceived  ? 
or  was  there  not  a  faint  resemblance  between  the  voice 
of  this  man  and  that  which  talked  of  grasping  my  throat 
and  extinguishing  my  life  in  a  moment  ?  Then  he  had 
a  colleague  in  his  crime ;  now  he  is  alone.  Then  death 
was  the  scope  of  his  thoughts ;  now  an  injury  unspeak 
ably  more  dreadful.  How  thankful  should  I  be  to  the 
£wcr  that  has  interposed  to  save  me ! 
That  power  is  invisible.  It  is  subject  to  the  cog- 
sance  of  one  of  my  senses.  What  are  the  means  that 
11  inform  me  of  what  nature  it  is  ?  He  has  set  him 
self  to  counterwork  the  machinations  of  this  man,  who 
had  menaced  destruction  to  all  that  is  dear  to  me,  and 
whose  coming  had  surmounted  every  human  impediment. 
There  was  none  to  rescue  me  from  his  grasp.  My  rash 
ness  even  hastened  the  completion  of  his  scheme,  and 
precluded  him  from  the  benefits  of  deliberation.  I  had 
robbed  him  of  the  power  to  repent  and  forbear.  Had  I 
been  apprized  of  the  danger,  I  should  have  regarded  my 
conduct  as  the  means  of  rendering  my  escape  from  it 
impossible.  Such,  likewise,  seem  to  have  been  the  fears 
of  my  invisible  protector.  Else  why  that  startling  en 
treaty  to  refrain  from  opening  the  closet?  By  what 
inexplicable  infatuation  was  I  compelled  to  proceed  ? 

Yet  my  conduct  was  wise.  Carwin,  unable  to  compre 
hend  my  folly,  ascribed  my  behaviour  to  my  knowledge. 
He  conceived  himself  previously  detected,  and,  such  de 
tection  being  possible  to  flow  only  from  my  heavenly 
friend  and  his  enemy,  his  fears  acquired  additional 
strength. 

He  is  apprized  of  the  nature  and  intentions  of  this 
being.  Perhaps  he  is  a  human  agent.  Yet  on  that 
supposition  his  achievements  are  incredible.  Why  should 
I  be  selected  as  the  object  of  his  care  ?  or,  if  a  mere 
mortal,  should  I  not  recognise  some  one  whom  benefits 
imparted  and  received  had  prompted  to  love  me  ?  What 
8 


114  WIELAND;    ORt 

were  the  limits  and  duration  of  his  guardianship  ?  Was 
the  genius  of  my  birth  intrusted  by  divine  benignity  with 
this  province  ?  Are  human  faculties  adequate  to  receive 
stronger  proofs  of  the  existence  of  unfettered  and  bene 
ficent  intelligences  than  I  have  received  ? 

But  who  was  this  man's  coadjutor  ?  The  voice  that 
acknowledged  an  alliance  in  treachery  with  Carwin 
warned  me  to  avoid  the  summer-house.  He  assured  me 
that  there  only  my  safety  was  endangered.  His  as 
surance,  as  it  now  appears,  was  fallacious.  Was  there 
not  deceit  in  his  admonition  ?  Was  his  compact  really 
annulled?  Some  purpose  was,  perhaps,  to  be  accom 
plished  by  preventing  my  future  visits  to  that  spot. 
Why  was  I  enjoined  silence  to  others  on  the  subject  of 
this  admonition,  unless  it  were  for  some  unauthorized 
and  guilty  purpose  ? 

No  one  but  myself  was  accustomed  to  visit  it.  Back 
ward  it  was  hidden  from  distant  view  by  the  rock,  and 
in  front  it  was  screened  from  all  examination  by  creeping 
plants  and  the  branches  of  cedars.  What  recess  could 
be  more  propitious  to  secrecy  ?  The  spirit  which  haunted 
it  formerly  was  pure  and  rapturous.  It  was  a  fane  sacred 
to  the  memory  of  infantile  days,  and  to  blissful  imagi 
nations  of  the  future !  What  a  gloomy  reverse  had  suc 
ceeded  since  the  ominous  arrival  of  this  stranger !  Now, 
perhaps,  it  is  the  scene  of  his  meditations.  Purposes 
fraught  with  horror,  that  shun  the  light  and  contemplate 
the  pollution  of  innocence,  are  here  engendered,  and 
fostered,  and  reared  to  maturity. 

Such  were  the  ideas  that,  during  the  night,  were  tumul- 
tuously  revolved  by  me.  I  reviewed  every  conversation 
in  which  Carwin  had  borne  a  part.  I  studied  to  discover 
the  true  inferences  deducible  from  his  deportment  and 
words  with  regard  to  his  former  adventures  and  actual 
views.  I  pondered  on  the  comments  which  he  made  on 
the  relation  which  I  had  given  of  the  closet  dialogue. 
No  new  ideas  suggested  themselves  in  the  course  of  this 
review.  My  expectation  had,  from  the  first,  been  dis 
appointed  on  the  small  degree  of  surprise  which  this 
narrative  excited  in  him.  He  never  explicitly  declared 
his  opinion  as  to  the  nature  of  those  voices,  or  decided 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  115 

whether  they  were  real  or  visionary.  He  recommended 
no  measures  of  caution  or  prevention. 

But  what  measures  were  now  to  be  taken  ?  Was  the 
danger  which  threatened  me  at  an  end  ?  Had  I  nothing 
more  to  fear  ?  I  was  lonely,  and  without  means  of  de 
fence.  I  could  not  calculate  the  motives  and  regulate  the 
footsteps  of  this  person.  What  certainty  was  there  that 
he  would  not  reassume  his  purposes  and  swiftly  return  to 
the  execution  of  them  ? 

This  idea  covered  me  once  more  with  dismay.  How 
deeply  did  I  regret  the  solitude  in  which  I  was  placed, 
and  how  ardently  did  I  desire  the  return  of  day !  But 
neither  of  these  inconveniences  were  susceptible  of 
remedy.  At  first  it  occurred  to  me  to  summon  my  ser 
vant  and  make  her  spend  the  night  in  my  chamber;  but 
the  inefficacy  of  this  expedient  to  enhance  my  safety  was 
easily  seen.  Once  I  resolved  to  leave  the  house  and  re 
tire  to  my  brother's,  but  was  deterred  by  reflecting  on 
the  unseasonableness  of  the  hour,  on  the  alarm  which 
my  arrival  and  the  account  which  I  should  be  obliged  to 
give  might  occasion,  and  on  the  danger  to  which  I  might 
expose  myself  in  the  way  thither.  I  began,  likewise,  to 
consider  Carwin's  return  to  molest  me  as  exceedingly 
improbable.  He  had  relinquished,  of  his  own  accord, 
his  design,  and  departed  without  compulsion. 

"Surely,"  said  I,  "there  is  omnipotence  in  the  cause 
that  changed  the  views  of  a  man  like  Carwin.  The 
divinity  that  shielded  me  from  his  attempts  will  take 
suitable  care  of  my  future  safety.  Thus  to  yield  to  my 
fears  is  to  deserve  that  they  should  be  real." 

Scarcely  had  I  uttered  these  words,  when  my  attention 
was  startled  by  the  sound  of  footsteps.  They  denoted 
some  one  stepping  into  the  piazza  in  front  of  my  house. 
My  new-born  confidence  was  extinguished  in  a  moment. 
Carwin,  I  thought,  had  repented  his  departure,  and  was 
hastily  returning.  The  possibility  that  his  return  was 
prompted  by  intentions  consistent  with  my  safety  found 
no  place  in  my  mind.  Images  of  violation  and  murder 
assailed  me  anew,  and  the  terrors  which  succeeded  almost 
incapacitated  me  from  taking  any  measures  for  my  defence. 
It  was  an  impulse  of  which  I  was  scarcely  conscious  that 


Il6  WIELAND;    OR, 

made  me  fasten  the  lock  and  draw  the  bolts  of  my  cham 
ber  door.  Having  done  this,  I  threw  myself  on  a  seat ; 
for  I  trembled  to  a  degree  which  disabled  me  from  stand 
ing,  and  my  soul  was  so  perfectly  absorbed  in  the  act  of 
listening,  that  almost  the  vital  motions  were  stopped. 

The  door  below  creaked  on  its  hinges.  It  was  not  again 
thrust  to,  but  appeared  to  remain  open.  Footsteps  entered, 
traversed  the  entry,  and  began  to  mount  the  stairs.  How 
I  detested  the  folly  of  not  pursuing  the  man  when  he  with 
drew,  and  bolting  after  him  the  outer  door !  Might  he  not 
conceive  this  omission  to  be  a  proof  that  my  angel  had 
deserted  me,  and  be  thereby  fortified  in  guilt  ? 

Every  step  on  the  stairs  which  brought  him  nearer  to 
my  chamber  added  vigour  to  my  desperation.  The  evil 
with  which  I  was  menaced  was  to  be  at  any  rate  eluded. 
How  little  did  I  preconceive  the  conduct  which,  in  an 
exigence  like  this,  I  should  be  prone  to  adopt !  You  will 
suppose  that  deliberation  and  despair  would  have  sug 
gested  the  same  course  of  action,  and  that  I  should  have 
unhesitatingly  resorted  to  the  best  means  of  personal  de 
fence  within  my  power.  A  penknife  lay  open  upon  my 
table.  I  remembered  that  it  was  there,  and  seized  it- 
For  what  purpose  you  will  scarcely  inquire.  It  will  be 
immediately  supposed  that  I  meant  it  for  my  last  refuge, 
and  that,  if  all  other  means  should  fail,  I  should  plunge 
it  into  the  heart  of  my  ravisher. 

I  have  lost  all  faith  in  the  steadfastness  of  human  re 
solves.  It  was  thus  that  in  periods  of  calm  I  had  de 
termined  to  act.  No  cowardice  had  been  held  by  me  in 
greater  abhorrence  than  that  which  prompted  an  injured 
female  to  destroy,  not  her  injurer  ere  the  injury  was 
perpetrated,  but  herself  when  it  was  without  remedy. 
Yet  now  this  penknife  appeared  to  me  of  no  other  use 
than  to  bafflle  my  assailant  and  prevent  the  crime  by 
destroying  myself.  To  deliberate  at  such  a  time  was 
impossible;  but,  among  the  tumultuous  suggestions  of 
the  moment,  I  do  not  recollect  that  it  once  occurred  to  me 
to  use  it  as  an  instrument  of  direct  defence. 

The  steps  had  now  reached  the  second  floor.  Every 
footfall  accelerated  the  completion  without  augmenting 
the  certainty  of  evil.  The  consciousness  that  the  door 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  1 1/ 

was  fast,  now  that  nothing  but  that  was  interposed 
between  me  and  danger,  was  a  source  of  some  consolation. 
I  cast  my  eye  towards  the  window.  This,  likewise,  was 
a  new  suggestion.  If  the  door  should  give  way,  it  was 
my  sudden  resolution  to  throw  myself  from  the  window. 
Its  height  from  the  ground,  which  was  covered  beneath 
by  a  brick  pavement,  would  insure  my  destruction ;  but 
I  thought  not  of  that. 

When  opposite  to  my  door  the  footsteps  ceased.  Was 
he  listening  whether  my  fears  were  allayed  and  my  caution 
were  asleep  ?  Did  he  hope  to  take  me  by  surprise  ?  Yet, 
if  so,  why  did  he  allow  so  many  noisy  signals  to  betray 
his  approach  ?  Presently  the  steps  were  again  heard  to 
approach  the  door.  A  hand  was  laid  upon  the  lock,  and 
the  latch  pulled  back.  Did  he  imagine  it  possible  that  I 
should  fail  to  secure  the  door  ?  A  slight  effort  was  made 
to  push  it  open,  as  if,  all  bolts  being  withdrawn,  a  slight 
effort  only  was  required. 

I  no  sooner  perceived  this  than  I  moved  swiftly  towards 
the  window.  Carwin's  frame  might  be  said  to  be  all 
muscle.  His  strength  and  activity  had  appeared,  in  vari 
ous  instances,  to  be  prodigious.  A  slight  exertion  of  his 
force  would  demolish  the  door.  Would  not  that  exertion 
be  made  ?  Too  surely  it  would ;  but,  at  the  same  moment 
that  this  obstacle  should  yield  and  he  should  enter  the 
apartment,  my  determination  was  formed  to  leap  from 
the  window.  My  senses  were  still  bound  to  this  object. 
I  gazed  at  the  door  in  momentary  expectation  that  the 
assault  would  be  made.  The  pause  continued.  The 
person  without  was  irresolute  and  motionless. 

Suddenly  it  occurred  to  me  that  Carwin  might  conceive 
me  to  have  fled.  That  I  had  not  betaken  myself  to  flight 
was,  indeed,  the  least  probable  of  all  conclusions.  In  this 
persuasion  he  must  have  been  confirmed  on  finding  the 
lower  door  unfastened  and  the  chamber  door  locked.  Was 
it  not  wise  to  foster  this  persuasion  ?  Should  I  maintain 
deep  silence,  this,  in  addition  to  other  circumstances,  might 
encourage  the  belief,  and  he  would  once  more  depart. 
Every  new  reflection  added  plausibility  to  this  reasoning. 
It  was  presently  more  strongly  enforced  when  I  noticed 
footsteps  withdrawing  from  the  door.  The  blood  once 


Il8  WIELAND;    OR, 

more  flowed  back  to  my  heart,  and  a  dawn  of  exultation 
began  to  rise;  but  my  joy  was  short-lived.  Instead  of 
descending  the  stairs,  he  passed  to  the  door  of  the  oppo 
site  chamber,  opened  it,  and,  having  entered,  shut  it  after 
him  with  a  violence  that  shook  the  house. 

How  was  I  to  interpret  this  circumstance  ?  For  what 
end  could  he  have  entered  this  chamber?  Did  the  vio 
lence  with  which  he  closed  the  door  testify  the  depth  of 
his  vexation  ?  This  room  was  usually  occupied  by  Pleyel. 
Was  Car  win  aware  of  his  absence  on  this  night  ?  Could 
he  be  suspected  of  a  design  so  sordid  as  pillage  ?  If  this 
were  his  view,  there  were  no  means  in  my  power  to  frus 
trate  it.  It  behooved  me  to  seize  the  first  opportunity  to 
escape ;  but,  if  my  escape  were  supposed  by  my  enemy 
to  have  been  already  effected,  no  asylum  was  more  secure 
than  the  present.  How  could  my  passage  from  the  house 
be  accomplished  without  noises  that  might  incite  him  to 
pursue  me? 

Utterly  at  a  loss  to  account  for  his  going  into  Pleyel's 
chamber,  I  waited  in  instant  expectation  of  hearing  him 
come  forth.  All,  however,  was  profoundly  still.  I  lis 
tened  in  vain  for  a  considerable  period  to  catch  the  sound 
of  the  door  when  it  should  again  be  opened.  There 
was  no  other  avenue  by  which  he  could  escape,  but  a 
door  which  led  into  the  girl's  chamber.  Would  any  evil 
from  this  quarter  befall  the  girl  ? 

Hence  arose  a  new  train  of  apprehensions.  They 
merely  added  to  the  turbulence  and  agony  of  my  reflec 
tions.  Whatever  evil  impended  over  her,  I  had  no 
power  to  avert  it.  Seclusion  and  silence  were  the  only 
means  of  saving  myself  from  the  perils  of  this  fatal 
night.  What  solemn  vows  did  I  put  up,  that,  if  I  should 
once  more  behold  the  light  of  day,  I  would  never  trust 
myself  again  within  the  threshold  of  this  dwelling ! 

Minute  lingered  after  minute,  but  no  token  was  given 
that  Carwin  had  returned  to  the  passage.  What,  I 
again  asked,  could  detain  him  in  this  room  ?  Was  it 
possible  that  he  had  returned,  and  glided  unperceived 
away  ?  I  was  speedily  aware  of  the  difficulty  that  at 
tended  an  enterprise  like  this;  and  yet,  as  if  by  that 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  119 

means  I  were  capable  of  gaining  any  information  on 
that  head,  I  cast  anxious  looks  from  the  window. 

The  object  that  first  attracted  my  attention  was  a 
human  figure  standing  on  the  edge  of  the  bank.  Per 
haps  my  penetration  was  assisted  by  my  hopes.  Be 
that  as  it  will,  the  figure  of  Carwin  was  clearly  distin 
guishable.  From  the  obscurity  of  my  station,  it  was 
impossible  that  I  should  be  discerned  by  him ;  and  yet  he 
scarcely  suffered  me  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  him.  He 
turned  and  went  down  the  steep,  which  in  this  part  was 
not  difficult  to  be  scaled. 

My  conjecture,  then,  had  been  right.  Carwin  has 
softly  opened  the  door,  descended  the  stairs,  and  issued 
forth.  That  I  should  not  have  overheard  his  steps  was 
only  less  incredible  than  that  my  eyes  had  deceived  me. 
But  what  was  now  to  be  done?  The  house  was  at 
length  delivered  from  this  detested  inmate.  By  one 
avenue  might  he  again  re-enter.  Was  it  not  wise  to 
bar  the  lower  door  ?  Perhaps  he  had  gone  out  by  the 
kitchen  door.  For  this  end,  he  must  have  passed 
through  Judith's  chamber.  These  entrances  being  closed 
and  bolted,  as  great  security  was  gained  as  was  com 
patible  with  my  lonely  condition. 

The  propriety  of  these  measures  was  too  manifest  not 
to  make  me  struggle  successfully  with  my  fears.  Yet  I 
opened  my  own  door  with  the  utmost  caution,  and  de 
scended  as  if  I  were  afraid  that  Carwin  had  been  still 
immured  in  Pleyel's  chamber.  The  outer  door  was  ajar. 
I  shut  it  with  trembling  eagerness,  and  drew  every  bolt 
that  appended  to  it.  I  then  passed  with  light  and  less 
cautious  steps  through  the  parlour,  but  was  surprised  to 
discover  that  the  kitchen  door  was  secure.  I  was  com 
pelled  to  acquiesce  in  the  first  conjecture  that  Carwin 
had  escaped  through  the  entry. 

My  heart  was  now  somewhat  eased  of  the  load  of  ap 
prehension.  I  returned  once  more  to  my  chamber,  the 
door  of  which  I  was  careful  to  lock.  It  was  no  time  to 
think  of  repose.  The  moonlight  began  already  to  fade 
before  the  light  of  the  day.  The  approach  of  morning 
was  betokened  by  the  usual  signals.  I  mused  upon  the 
events  of  this  night,  and  determined  to  take  up  my 


I2O  WIELAND. 

abode  henceforth  at  my  brother's.  Whether  I  should 
inform  him  of  what  had  happened  was  a  question  which 
seemed  to  demand  some  consideration.  My  safety  un 
questionably  required  that  I  should  abandon  my  present 
habitation. 

As  my  thoughts  began  to  flow  with  fewer  impediments, 
the  image  of  Pleyel,  and  the  dubiousness  of  his  condi 
tion,  again  recurred  to  me.  I  again  ran  over  the  pos 
sible  causes  of  his  absence  on  the  preceding  day.  My 
mind  was  attuned  to  melancholy.  I  dwelt,  with  an  ob 
stinacy  for  which  I  could  not  account,  on  the  idea  of  his 
death.  I  painted  to  myself  his  struggles  with  the  bil 
lows,  and  his  last  appearance.  I  imagined  myself  a 
midnight  wanderer  on  the  shore,  and  to  have  stumbled 
on  his  corpse,  which  the  tide  had  cast  up.  These  dreary 
images  affected  me  even  to  tears.  I  endeavoured  not  to 
restrain  them.  They  imparted  a  relief  which  I  had  not 
anticipated.  The  more  copiously  they  flowed,  the  more 
did  my  general  sensations  appear  to  subside  into  calm, 
and  a  certain  restlessness  give  way  to  repose. 

Perhaps,  relieved  by  this  effusion,  the  slumber  so 
much  wanted  might  have  stolen  on  my  senses,  had  there 
been  no  new  cause  of  alarm. 


CHAPTER  XL 

I  WAS  aroused  from  this  stupor  by  sounds  that  evi 
dently  arose  in  the  next  chamber.  Was  it  possible  that 
I  had  been  mistaken  in  the  figure  which  I  had  seen  on 
the  bank  ?  or  had  Carwin,  by  some  inscrutable  means, 
penetrated  once  more  into  this  chamber  ?  The  opposite 
door  opened ;  footsteps  came  forth,  and  the  person, 
advancing  to  mine,  knocked. 

So  unexpected  an  incident  robbed  me  of  all  presence 
of  mind,  and,  starting  up,  I  involuntarily  exclaimed, 
"Who  is  there?"  An  answer  was  immediately  given. 
The  voice,  to  my  inexpressible  astonishment,  was 
Pleyel's. 

"  It  is  I.  Have  you  risen  ?  If  you  have  not,  make 
haste ;  I  want  three  minutes'  conversation  with  you  in 
the  parlour.  I  will  wait  for  you  there."  Saying  this, 
he  retired  from  the  door. 

Should  I  confide  in  the  testimony  of  my  ears  ?  If 
that  were  true,  it  was  Pleyel  that  had  been  hitherto 
immured  in  the  opposite  chamber ;  he  whom  my  rueful 
fancy  had  depicted  in  so  many  ruinous  and  ghastly 
shapes;  he  whose  footsteps  had  been  listened  to  with 
such  inquietude !  What  is  man,  that  knowledge  is  so 
sparingly  conferred  upon  him  !  that  his  heart  should  be 
wrung  with  distress,  and  his  frame  be  exanimated  with 
fear,  though  his  safety  be  encompassed  with  impregnable 
walls  !  What  are  the  bounds  of  human  imbecility !  He 
that  warned  me  of  the  presence  of  my  foe  refused  the 
intimation  by  which  so  many  racking  fears  would  have 
been  precluded. 

Yet  who  would  have  imagined  the  arrival  of  Pleyel  at 
such  an  hour  ?  His  tone  was  desponding  and  anxious. 
Why  this  unseasonable  summons?  and  why  this  hasty 

121 


122  WIELAND;    OR, 

departure  ?  Some  tidings  he,  perhaps,  bears  of  myste 
rious  and  unwelcome  import. 

My  impatience  would  not  allow  me  to  consume  much 
time  in  deliberation ;  I  hastened  down.  Pleyel  I  found 
standing  at  a  window,  with  eyes  cast  down  as  in  medi 
tation,  and  arms  folded  on  his  breast.  Every  line  in  his 
countenance  was  pregnant  with  sorrow.  To  this  was 
added  a  certain  wanness  and  air  of  fatigue.  The  last 
time  I  had  seen  him  appearances  had  been  the  reverse 
of  these.  I  was  startled  at  the  change.  The  first  im 
pulse  was  to  question  him  as  to  the  cause.  This  impulse 
was  supplanted  by  some  degree  of  confusion,  flowing 
from  a  consciousness  that  love  had  too  large,  and,  as  it 
might  prove,  a  perceptible,  share  in  creating  this  im 
pulse.  I  was  silent. 

Presently  he  raised  his  eyes  and  fixed  them  upon  me. 
I  read  in  them  an  anguish  altogether  ineffable.  Never 
had  I  witnessed  a  like  demeanour  in  Pleyel.  Never, 
indeed,  had  I  observed  a  human  countenance  in  which 
grief  was  more  legibly  inscribed.  He  seemed  struggling 
for  utterance ;  but,  his  struggles  being  fruitless,  he  shook 
his  head  and  turned  away  from  me. 

My  impatience  would  not  allow  me  to  be  longer 
silent.  "What,"  said  I,  "for  heaven's  sake,  my  friend, 
— what  is  the  matter  ?" 

He  started  at  the  sound  of  my  voice.  His  looks,  for 
a  moment,  became  convulsed  with  an  emotion  very  dif 
ferent  from  grief.  His  accents  were  broken  with  rage : — 

"  The  matter !  0  wretch ! — thus  exquisitely  fashioned, 
— on  whom  nature  seemed  to  have  exhausted  all  her 
graces ;  with  charms  so  awful  and  so  pure !  how  art 
thou  fallen !  From  what  height  fallen !  A  ruin  so  com 
plete, — so  unheard-of !" 

His  words  were  again  choked  by  emotion.  Grief  and 
pity  were  again  mingled  in  his  features.  He  resumed, 
in  a  tone,  half  suffocated  by  sobs  : — 

"  But  why  should  I  upbraid  thee  ?  Could  I  restore  to 
thee  what  thou  hast  lost,  efface  this  cursed  stain,  snatch 
thee  from  the  jaws  of  this  fiend,  I  would  do  it.  Yet 
what  will  avail  my  efforts  ?  I  have  not  arms  with  which 
to  contend  with  so  consummate,  so  frightful  a  depravity. 


THE    TRANSFORMATION. 

"Evidence  less  than  this  would  only  have  excited 
resentment  and  scorn.  The  wretch  who  should  have 
breathed  a  suspicion  injurious  to  thy  honour  would  have 
been  regarded  without  anger :  not  hatred  or  envy  could 
have  prompted  him ;  it  would  merely  be  an  argument  of 
madness.  That  my  eyes,  that  my  ears,  should  bear  wit 
ness  to  thy  fall !  By  no  other  way  could  detestable  con 
viction  be  imparted. 

"  Why  do  I  summon  thee  to  this  conference  ?  Why 
expose  myself  to  thy  derision  ?  Here  admonition  and 
entreaty  are  vain.  Thou  knowest  him  already  for  a 
murderer  and  thief.  I  had  thought  to  have  been  the 
first  to  disclose  to  thee  his  infamy ;  to  have  warned  thee 
of  the  pit  to  which  thou  art  hastening  ;  but  thy  eyes  are 
open  in  vain.  Oh,  foul  and  insupportable  disgrace  ! 

"  There  is  but  one  path.  I  know  you  will  disappear 
together.  In  thy  ruin,  how  will  the  felicity  and  honour 
of  multitudes  be  involved !  But  it  must  come.  This 
scene  shall  not  be  blotted  by  his  presence.  No  doubt 
thou  wilt  shortly  see  thy  detested  paramour.  This  scene 
will  be  again  polluted  by  a  midnight  assignation.  Inform 
him  of  his  dangers  ;  tell  him  that  his  crimes  are  known ; 
let  him  fly  far  and  instantly  from  this  spot,  if  he  desires 
to  avoid  the  fate  which  menaced  him  in  Ireland. 

"And  wilt  thou  not  stay  behind?  But  shame  upon 
my  weakness !  I  know  not  what  I  would  say.  I  have 
done  what  I  purposed.  To  stay  longer,  to  expostulate, 
to  beseech,  to  enumerate  the  consequences  of  thy  act, — 
what  end  can  it  serve  but  to  blazon  thy  infamy  and  em 
bitter  our  woes  ?  And  yet,  oh,  think — think  ere  it  be 
too  late — on  the  distresses  which  thy  flight  will  entail 
upon  us ;  on  the  base,  grovelling,  and  atrocious  character 
of  the  wretch  to  whom  thou  hast  sold  thy  honour.  But 
what  is  this?  Is  not  thy  effrontery  impenetrable  and 
thy  heart  thoroughly  cankered  ?  Oh,  most  specious  and 
most  profligate  of  women  !" 

Saying  this,  he  rushed  out  of  the  house.  I  saw  him 
in  a  few  moments  hurrying  along  the  path  which  led  to 
my  brother's.  I  had  no  power  to  prevent  his  going,  or 
to  recall  or  to  follow  him.  The  accents  I  had  heard 
were  calculated  to  confound  and  bewilder.  I  looked 


124  W IE  LAND;    OR, 

around  me,  to  assure  myself  that  the  scene  was  real.  I 
moved,  that  I  might  banish  the  doubt  that  I  was  awake. 
Such  enormous  imputations  from  the  mouth  of  Pleyel ! 
To  be  stigmatized  with  the  names  of  wanton  and  profli 
gate  !  To  be  charged  with  the  sacrifice  of  honour !  with 
midnight  meetings  with  a  wretch  known  to  be  a  murderer 
and  thief !  with  an  intention  to  fly  in  his  company ! 

What  I  had  heard  was  surely  the  dictate  of  frenzy, 
or  it  was  built  upon  some  fatal,  some  incomprehensible 
mistake.  After  the  horrors  of  the  night,  after  under 
going  perils  so  imminent  from  this  man,  to  be  summoned 
to  an  interview  like  this ! — to  find  Pleyel  fraught  with  a 
belief  that,  instead  of  having  chosen  death  as  a  refuge 
from  the  violence  of  this  man,  I  had  hugged  his  base 
ness  to  my  heart,  had  sacrificed  for  him  my  purity,  my 
spotless  name,  my  friendships,  and  my  fortune !  That 
even  madness  could  engender  accusations  like  these  was 
not  to  be  believed. 

What  evidence  could  possibly  suggest  conceptions  so 
wild  ?  After  the  unlooked-for  interview  with  Carwin  in 
my  chamber,  he  retired.  Could  Pleyel  have  observed 
his  exit  ?  It  was  not  long  after  that  Pleyel  himself 
entered.  Did  he  build  on  this  incident  his  odious  con 
clusions  ?  Could  the  long  series  of  my  actions  and  senti 
ments  grant  me  no  exemption  from  suspicions  so  foul  ? 
Was  it  not  more  rational  to  infer  that  Car  win's  designs 
had  been  illicit  ?  that  my  life  had  been  endangered  by 
the  fury  of  one  whom,  by  some  means,  he  had  discovered 
to  be  an  assassin  and  robber  ?  that  my  honour  had  been 
assailed,  not  by  blandishments,  but  by  violence  ? 

He  has  judged  me  without  hearing.  He  has  drawn 
from  dubious  appearances  conclusions  the  most  improba 
ble  and  unjust.  He  has  loaded  me  with  all  outrageous 
epithets.  He  has  ranked  me  with  prostitutes  and  thieves. 
I  cannot  pardon  thee,  Pleyel,  for  this  injustice.  Thy 
understanding  must  be  hurt.  If  it  be  not, — if  thy  con 
duct  was  sober  and  deliberate, — I  can  never  forgive  an 
outrage  so  unmanly  and  so  gross. 

These  thoughts  gradually  gave  place  to  others.  Pleyel 
was  possessed  by  some  momentary  frenzy;  appearances 
had  led  him  into  palpable  errors.  Whence  could  his 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  12$ 

sagacity  have  contracted  this  blindness?  "Was  it  not 
love  ?  Previously  assured  of  my  affection  for  Carwin, 
distracted  with  grief  and  jealousy,  and  impelled  hither 
at  that  late  hour  by  some  unknown  instigation,  his 
imagination  transformed  shadows  into  monsters,  and 
plunged  him  into  these  deplorable  errors. 

This  idea  was  not  unattended  with  consolation.  My 
soul  was  divided  between  indignation  at  his  injustice  and 
delight  on  account  of  the  source  from  y/hich  I  conceived 
it  to  spring.  For  a  long  time  they  would  allow  admis 
sion  to  no  other  thoughts.  Surprise  is  an  emotion  that 
enfeebles,  not  invigorates.  All  my  meditations  were  ac 
companied  with  wonder.  I  rambled  with  vagueness,  or 
clung  to  one  image  with  an  obstinacy  which  sufficiently 
testified  the  maddening  influence  of  late  transactions. 

Gradually  I  proceeded  to  reflect  upon  the  consequences 
of  Pleyel's  mistake,  and  on  the  measures  I  should  take 
to  guard  myself  against  future  injury  from  Carwin. 
Should  I  suffer  this  mistake  to  be  detected  by  time? 
When  his  passion  should  subside,  would  he  not  perceive 
the  flagrancy  of  his  injustice  and  hasten  to  atone  for  it  ? 
Did  it  not  become  my  character  to  testify  resentment  for 
language  and  treatment  so  opprobrious  ?  Wrapt  up  in 
the  consciousness  of  innocence,  and  confiding  in  the 
influence  of  time  and  reflection  to  confute  so  groundless 
a  charge,  it  was  my  province  to  be  passive  and  silent. 

As  to  the  violences  meditated  by  Carwin,  and  the 
means  of  eluding  them,  the  path  to  be  taken  by  me  was 
obvious.  I  resolved  to  tell  the  tale  to  my  brother  and 
regulate  myself  by  his  advice.  For  this  end,  when  the 
morning  was  somewhat  advanced,  I  took  the  way  to  his 
house.  My  sister  was  engaged  in  her  customary  occupa 
tions.  As  soon  as  I  appeared,  she  remarked  a  change 
in  my  looks.  I  was  not  willing  to  alarm  her  by  the  in 
formation  which  I  had  to  communicate.  Her  health  was 
in  that  condition  which  rendered  a  disastrous  tale  par 
ticularly  unsuitable.  I  forbore  a  direct  answer  to  her 
inquiries,  and  inquired,  in  my  turn,  for  Wieland. 

"  Why,"  said  she,  "I  suspect  something  mysterious 
and  unpleasant  has  happened  this  morning.  Scarcely 
had  we  risen  when  Pleyel  dropped  among  us.  What 


126  WIELAND;    OR, 

could  have  prompted  him  to  make  us  so  early  and  so  un 
seasonable  a  visit  I  cannot  tell.  To  judge  from  the  dis 
order  of  his  dress,  and  his  countenance,  something  of  an 
extraordinary  nature  has  occurred.  He  permitted  me 
merely  to  know  that  he  had  slept  none,  nor  even  un 
dressed,  during  the  past  night.  He  took  your  brother 
to  walk  with  him.  Some  topic  must  have  deeply  engaged 
them,  for  Wieland  did  not  return  till  the  breakfast-hour 
was  passed,  and  returned  alone.  His  disturbance  was 
excessive ;  but  he  would  not  listen  to  my  importunities, 
or  tell  me  what  had  happened.  I  gathered,  from  hints 
which  he  let  fall,  that  your  situation  was  in  some  way 
the  cause ;  yet  he  assured  me  that  you  were  at  your  own 
house,  alive,  in  good  health,  and  in  perfect  safety.  He 
scarcely  ate  a  morsel,  and  immediately  after  breakfast 
went  out  again.  He  would  not  inform  me  whither  he 
was  going,  but  mentioned  that  he  probably  might  not 
return  before  night." 

I  was  equally  astonished  and  alarmed  by  this  informa 
tion.  Pleyel  had  told  his  tale  to  my  brother,  and  had, 
by  a  plausible  and  exaggerated  picture,  instilled  into  him 
unfavourable  thoughts  of  me.  Yet  would  not  the  more 
correct  judgment  of  Wieland  perceive  and  expose  the 
fallacy  of  his  conclusions  ?  Perhaps  his  uneasiness  might 
arise  from  some  insight  into  the  character  of  Carwin, 
and  from  apprehensions  for  my  safety.  The  appearances 
by  which  Pleyel  had  been  misled  might  induce  him  like 
wise  to  believe  that  I  entertained  an  indiscreet  though 
not  dishonourable  affection  for  Carwin.  Such  were  the 
conjectures  rapidly  formed.  I  was  inexpressibly  anxious 
to  change  them  into  certainty.  Eor  this  end  an  inter 
view  with  my  brother  was  desirable.  He  was  gone  no 
one  knew  whither,  and  was  not  expected  speedily  to 
return.  I  had  no  clue  by  which  to  trace  his  footsteps. 

My  anxieties  could  not  be  concealed  from  my  sister. 
They  heightened  her  solicitude  to  be  acquainted  with  the 
cause.  There  were  many  reasons  persuading  me  to 
silence ;  at  least,  till  I  had  seen  my  brother,  it  would  be 
an  act  of  inexcusable  temerity  to  unfold  what  had  lately 
passed.  No  other  expedient  for  eluding  her  importuni 
ties  occurred  to  me  but  that  of  returning  to  my  own 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  \2*J 

house.  I  recollected  my  determination  to  become  a 
tenant  of  this  roof.  I  mentioned  it  to  her.  She  joy 
fully  acceded  to  this  proposal,  and  suffered  me  with  less 
reluctance  to  depart  when  I  told  her  that  it  was  with  a 
view  to  collect  and  send  to  my  new  dwelling  what  arti 
cles  would  be  immediately  useful  to  me. 

Once  more  I  returned  to  the  house  which  had  been  the 
scene  of  so  much  turbulence  and  danger.  I  was  at  no 
great  distance  from  it  when  I  observed  my  brother  coming 
out.  On  seeing  me  he  stopped,  and,  after  ascertaining, 
as  it  seemed,  which  way  I  was  going,  he  returned  into 
the  house  before  me.  I  sincerely  rejoiced  at  this  event, 
and  I  hastened  to  set  things,  if  possible,  on  their  right 
footing. 

His  brow  was  by  no  means  expressive  of  those  vehement 
emotions  with  which  Pleyel  had  been  agitated.  I  drew  a 
favourable  omen  from  this  circumstance.  Without  delay 
I  began  the  conversation. 

"I  have  been  to  look  for  you,"  said  I,  "but  was  told 
by  Catharine  that  Pleyel  had  engaged  you  on  some  im 
portant  and  disagreeable  affair.  Before  his  interview 
with  you  he  spent  a  few  minutes  with  me.  These  minutes 
he  employed  in  upbraiding  me  for  crimes  and  intentions 
with  which  I  am  by  no  means  chargeable.  I  believe  him  to 
have  taken  up  his  opinions  on  very  insufficient  grounds. 
His  behaviour  was  in  the  highest  degree  precipitate  and 
unjust,  and,  until  I  receive  some  atonement,  I  shall  treat 
him,  in  my  turn,  with  that  contempt  which  he  justly 
merits ;  meanwhile,  I  am  fearful  that  he  has  prejudiced 
my  brother  against  me.  That  is  an  evil  which  I  most 
anxiously  deprecate,  and  which  I  shall  indeed  exert  my 
self  to  remove.  Has  he  made  me  the  subject  of  this 
morning's  conversation?" 

My  brother's  countenance  testified  no  surprise  at  my 
address.  The  benignity  of  his  looks  was  nowise  dimi 
nished. 

"It  is  true,"  said  he,  "your  conduct  was  the  subject  of 
our  discourse.  I  am  your  friend  as  well  as  your  brother. 
There  is  no  human  being  whom  I  love  Avith  more  tenderness 
and  whose  welfare  is  nearer  my  heart.  Judge,  then, 
with  what  emotions  I  listened  to  Pleyel's  story.  I  expect 


128  WIELAND;    OR, 

and  desire  you  to  vindicate  yourself  from  aspersions  so 
foul,  if  vindication  be  possible." 

The  tone  with  which  he  uttered  the  last  words  affected 
me  deeply.  "If  vindication  be  possible!"  repeated  I. 
"  From  what  you  know,  do  you  deem  a  formal  vindication 
necessary  ?  Can  you  harbour  for  a  moment  the  belief  of 
my  guilt?" 

He  shook  his  head  with  an  air  of  acute  anguish.  "  I 
have  struggled,"  said  he,  "to  dismiss  that  belief.  You 
speak  before  a  judge  who  will  profit  by  any  pretence  to 
acquit  you ;  who  is  ready  to  question  his  own  senses  when 
they  plead  against  you." 

These  words  incited  a  new  set  of  thoughts  in  my  mind. 
I  began  to  suspect  that  Pleyel  had  built  his  accusations 
on  some  foundation  unknown  to  me.  * '  I  may  be  a  stranger 
to  the  grounds  of  your  belief.  Pleyel  loaded  me  with 
indecent  and  virulent  invectives,  but  he  withheld  from 
me  the  facts  that  generated  his  suspicions.  Events  took 
place  last  night  of  which  some  of  the  circumstances  were 
of  an  ambiguous  nature.  I  conceived  that  these  might 
possibly  have  fallen  under  his  cognizance,  and  that,  viewed 
through  the  mists  of  prejudice  and  passion,  they  supplied 
a  pretence  for  his  conduct,  but  believed  that  your  more 
unbiassed  judgment  would  estimate  them  at  their  just 
value.  Perhaps  his  tale  has  been  different  from  what  I 
suspect  it  to  be.  Listen,  then,  to  my  narrative.  If 
there  be  any  thing  in  his  story  inconsistent  with  mine,  his 
story  is  false." 

I  then  proceeded  to  a  circumstantial  relation  of  the  inci 
dents  of  the  last  night.  Wieland  listened  with  deep  atten 
tion.  Having  finished,  "  This,"  continued  I,  "  is  the  truth. 
You  see  in  what  circumstances  an  interview  took  place 
between  Carwin  and  me.  He  remained  for  hours  in  my 
closet,  and  for  some  minutes  in  my  chamber.  He  departed 
without  haste  or  interruption.  If  Pleyel  marked  him  as 
he  left  the  house,  (and  it  is  not  impossible  that  he  did,)  in 
ferences  injurious  to  my  character  might  suggest  them 
selves  to  him.  In  admitting  them,  he  gave  proofs  of  less 
discernment  and  less  candour  than  I  once  ascribed  to  him." 

"  His  proofs,"  said  Wieland,  after  a  considerable  pause, 
"are  different.  That  he  should  be  deceived  is  not  possi- 


THE   TRANSFORMATION.  1 29 

We.  That  he  himself  is  not  the  deceiver  could  not  be 
believed,  if  his  testimony  were  not  inconsistent  with  yours ; 
but  the  doubts  which  I  entertained  are  now  removed. 
Your  tale,  some  parts  of  it,  is  marvellous ;  the  voice  which 
exclaimed  against  your  rashness  in  approaching  the  closet, 
your  persisting,  notwithstanding  that  prohibition,  your 
belief  that  I  was  the  ruffian,  and  your  subsequent  conduct, 
are  believed  by  me,  because  I  have  known  you  from  child 
hood,  because  a  thousand  instances  have  attested  your 
veracity,  and  because  nothing  less  than  my  own  hearing 
and  vision  would  convince  me,  in  opposition  to  her  own 
assertions,  that  my  sister  had  fallen  into  wickedness  like 
this." 

I  threw  my  arms  around  him  and  bathed  his  cheek 
with  my  tears.  i '  That, ' '  said  I,  "  is  spoken  like  my  brother. 
But  what  are  the  proofs?" 

He  replied,  "Pleyel  informed  me  that,  in  going  to  your 
house,  his  attention  was  attracted  by  two  voices.  The 
persons  speaking  sat  beneath  the  bank,  out  of  sight. 
These  persons,  judging  by  their  voices,  were  Carwin  and 
you.  I  will  not  repeat  the  dialogue.  If  my  sister  was 
the  female,  Pleyel  was  justified  in  concluding  you  to  be 
indeed  one  of  the  most  profligate  of  women.  Hence  his 
accusations  of  you,  and  his  efforts  to  obtain  my  concur 
rence  to  a  plan  by  which  an  eternal  separation  should  be 
brought  about  between  my  sister  and  this  man." 

I  made  Wieland  repeat  this  recital.  Here  indeed  was 
a  tale  to  fill  me  with  terrible  foreboding.  I  had  vainly 
thought  that  my  safety  could  be  sufficiently  secured  by 
doors  and  bars,  but  this  is  a  foe  from  whose  grasp  no  power 
of  divinity  can  save  me !  His  artifices  will  ever  lay  my 
fame  and  happiness  at  his  mercy.  How  shall  I  counter 
work  his  plots  or  detect  his  coadjutor?  He  has  taught 
some  vile  and  abandoned  female  to  mimic  my  voice. 
Pleyel's  ears  were  the  witnesses  of  my  dishonour.  This 
is  the  midnight  assignation  to  which  he  alluded.  Thus 
is  the  silence  he  maintained  when  attempting  to  open  the 
door  of  my  chamber,  accounted  for.  He  supposed  me 
absent,  and  meant,  perhaps,  had  my  apartment  been 
accessible,  to  leave  in  it  some  accusing  memorial. 

Pleyel  was  no  longer  equally  culpable.  The  sincerity 
9 


I3O  WIELAND;    OR, 

of  his  anguish,  the  depth  of  his  despair,  I  remembered 
with  some  tendencies  to  gratitude.  Yet  was  he  not  pre 
cipitate?  Was  the  conjecture  that  my  part  was  played 
by  some  mimic  so  utterly  untenable  ?  Instances  of  this 
faculty  are  common.  The  wickedness  of  Carwin  must, 
in  his  opinion,  have  been  adequate  to  such  contrivances; 
and  yet  the  supposition  of  my  guilt  was  adopted  in  pre 
ference  to  that. 

But  how  was  this  error  to  be  unveiled  ?  What  but  my 
own  assertion  had  I  to  throw  in  the  balance  against  it? 
Would  this  be  permitted  to  outweigh  the  testimony  of  his 
senses  ?  I  had  no  witnesses  to  prove  my  existence  in  an 
other  place.  The  real  events  of  that  night  are  marvellous. 
Few  to  whom  they  should  be  related  would  scruple  to  dis 
credit  them.  Pleyel  is  skeptical  in  a  transcendent  degree. 
I  cannot  summon  Carwin  to  my  bar,  and  make  him  the 
attester  of  my  innocence  and  the  accuser  of  himself. 

My  brother  saw  and  comprehended  my  distress.  He 
was  unacquainted,  however,  with  the  full  extent  of  it.  He 
knew  not  by  how  many  motives  I  was  incited  to  retrieve 
the  good  opinion  of  Pleyel.  He  endeavoured  to  console 
me.  Some  new  event,  he  said,  would  occur  to  disentangle 
the  maze.  He  did  not  question  the  influence  of  my  elo 
quence,  if  I  thought  proper  to  exert  it.  Why  not  seek 
an  interview  with  Pleyel,  and  exact  from  him  a  minute 
relation,  in  which  something  may  be  met  with  serving  to 
destroy  the  probability  of  the  whole  ? 

I  caught  with  eagerness  at  this  hope ;  but  my  alacrity 
was  damped  by  new  reflections.  Should  I,  perfect  in  this 
respect,  and  unblemished  as  I  was,  thrust  myself  uncalled 
into  his  presence,  and  make  my  felicity  depend  upon  his 
arbitrary  verdict? 

"If  you  choose  to  seek  an  interview,"  continued  Wic- 
land,  "you  must  make  haste;  for  Pleyel  informed  me  of 
his  intention  to  set  out  this  evening  or  to-morrow  on  a 
long  journey." 

No  intelligence  was  less  expected  or  less  welcome  than 
this.  I  had  thrown  myself  in  a  window-seat ;  but  now, 
starting  on  my  feet,  I  exclaimed,  "  Good  heavens !  what 
is  it  you  say?  A  journey?  Whither?  when?" 

"I  cannot  say  whither.     It  is  a  sudden  resolution,  I 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  131 

believe.  I  did  not  hear  of  it  till  this  morning.  He  pro 
mises  to  write  to  me  as  soon  as  he  is  settled." 

I  needed  no  further  information  as  to  the  cause  and 
issue  of  this  journey.  The  scheme  of  happiness  to  which 
he  had  devoted  his  thoughts  was  blasted  by  the  discovery 
of  last  night.  My  preference  of  another,  and  my  un- 
worthiness  to  be  any  longer  the  object  of  his  adoration, 
were  evinced  by  the  same  act  and  in  the  same  moment. 
The  thought  of  utter  desertion,  a  desertion  originating 
in  such  a  cause,  was  the  prelude  to  distraction.  That 
Pleyel  should  abandon  me  forever,  because  I  was  blind 
to  his  excellence,  because  I  coveted  pollution  and  wedded 
infamy,  when,  on  the  contrary,  my  heart  was  the  shrine 
of  all  purity,  and  beat  only  for  his  sake,  was  a  destiny 
which,  as  long  as  my  life  was  in  my  own  hands,  I  would 
by  no  means  consent  to  endure. 

I  remembered  that  this  evil  was  still  preventable ;  that 
this  fatal  journey  it  was  still  in  my  power  to  procrasti 
nate,  or,  perhaps,  to  occasion  it  to  be  laid  aside.  There 
were  no  impediments  to  a  visit ;  I  only  dreaded  lest  the 
interview  should  be  too  long  delayed.  My  brother  be 
friended  my  impatience,  and  readily  consented  to  furnish 
me  with  a  chaise  and  servant  to  attend  me.  My  purpose 
was  to  go  immediately  to  Pleyel's  farm,  where  his  en 
gagements  usually  detained  him  during  the  day. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

MY  way  lay  through  the  city.  I  had  scarcely  entered 
it  when  I  was  seized  with  a  general  sensation  of  sickness. 
Every  object  grew  dim  and  swam  before  my- sight.  It 
was  with  difficulty  I  prevented  myself  from  sinking  to 
the  bottom  of  the  carriage.  I  ordered  myself  to  be  car 
ried  to  Mrs.  Baynton's,  in  hope  that  an  interval  of  repose 
would  invigorate  and  refresh  me.  My  distracted  thoughts 
would  allow  me  but  little  rest.  Growing  somewhat  better 
in  the  afternoon,  I  resumed  my  journey. 

My  contemplations  were  limited  to  a  few  objects.  I 
regarded  my  success  in  the  purpose  which  I  had  in  view 
as  considerably  doubtful.  I  depended3  in  some  degree, 
on  the  suggestions  of  the  moment,  and  on  the  materials 
which  Pleyel  himself  should  furnish  me.  When  I  re 
flected  on  the  nature  of  the  accusation,  I  burned  with 
disdain.  Would  not  truth,  and  the  consciousness  of  in 
nocence,  render  me  triumphant  ?  Should  I  not  cast  from 
me,  with  irresistible  force,  such  atrocious  imputations  ? 

What  an  entire  and  mournful  change  has  been  effected 
in  a  few  hours  !  The  gulf  that  separates  man  from  in 
sects  is  not  wider  than  that  which  severs  the  polluted 
from  the  chaste  among  women.  Yesterday  and  to-day  I 
am  the  same.  There  is  a  degree  of  depravity  to  which 
it  is  impossible  for  me  to  sink ;  yet,  in  the  apprehension 
of  another,  my  ancient  and  intimate  associate,  the  per 
petual  witness  of  my  actions  and  partaker  of  my  thoughts, 
I  had  ceased  to  be  the  same.  My  integrity  was  tarnished 
and  withered  in  his  eyes.  I  was  the  colleague  of  a  mur 
derer  and  the  paramour  of  a  thief! 

His  opinion  was  not  destitute  of  evidence ;  yet  what 
proofs  could  reasonably  avail  to  establish  an  opinion  like 
132 


THE   TRANSFORMATION.  133 

this  ?  If  the  sentiments  corresponded  not  with  the  voice 
that  was  heard,  the  evidence  was  deficient ;  but  this  want 
of  correspondence  would  have  been  supposed  by  me  if  I 
had  been  the  auditor  and  Pleyel  the  criminal.  But 
mimicry  might  still  more  plausibly  have  been  employed 
to  explain  the  scene.  Alas !  it  is  the  fate  of  Clara 
Wieland  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  a  precipitate  and  in 
exorable  judge. 

But  what,  0  man  of  mischief,  is  the  tendency  of  thy 
thoughts  ?  Frustrated  in  thy  first  design,  thou  wilt  not 
forego  the  immolation  of  thy  victim.  To  exterminate 
my  reputation  was  all  that  remained  to  thee ;  and  this 
my  guardian  has  permitted.  To  dispossess  Pleyel  of 
this  prejudice  may  be  impossible  ;  but,  if  that  be  effected, 
it  cannot  be  supposed  that  thy  wiles  are  exhausted ;  thy 
cunning  will  discover  innumerable  avenues  to  the  accom 
plishment  of  thy  malignant  purpose. 

Why  should  I  enter  the  lists  against  thee  ?  Would  to 
heaven  I  could  disarm  thy  vengeance  by  my  deprecations ! 

When  I  think  of  all  the  resources  with  which  nature 
and  education  have  supplied  thee, — that  thy  form  is  a 
combination  of  steely  fibres  and  organs  of  exquisite  duc 
tility  and  boundless  compass,  actuated  by  an  intelligence 
gifted  with  infinite  endowments  and  comprehending  all 
knowledge, — I  perceive  that  my  doom  is  fixed.  What 
obstacle  will  be  able  to  divert  thy  zeal  or  repel  thy 
efforts  ?  That  being  who  has  hitherto  protected  me  has 
borne  testimony  to  the  formidableness  of  thy  attempts, 
since  nothing  less  than  supernatural  interference  could 
check  thy  career. 

Musing  on  these  thoughts,  I  arrived,  towards  the  close 
of  the  day,  at  Pleyel's  house.  A  month  before,  I  had 
traversed  the  same  path;  but  how  different  were  my 
sensations  !  Now  I  was  seeking  the  presence  of  one  who 
regarded  me  as  the  most  degenerate  of  human  kind.  I 
was  to  plead  the  cause  of  my  innocence  against  witnesses 
the  most  explicit  and  unerring  of  those  which  support 
the  fabric  of  human  knowledge.  The  nearer  I  ap 
proached  the  crisis,  the  more  did  my  confidence  decay. 
When  the  chaise  stopped  at  the  door,  my  strength  re 
fused  to  support  me,  and  I  threw  myself  into  the  arms 


134  WIELAND;    OR, 

of  an  ancient  female  domestic.  I  had  not  courage  to  in 
quire  whether  her  master  was  at  home.  I  was  tormented 
with  fears  that  the  projected  journey  was  already  under 
taken.  These  fears  were  removed  by  her  asking  me 
whether  she  should  call  her  young  master,  who  had  just 
gone  into  his  own  room.  I  was  somewhat  revived  by 
this  intelligence,  and  resolved  immediately  to  seek  him 
there. 

In  my  confusion  of  mind,  I  neglected  to  knock  at  the 
door,  but  entered  his  apartment  without  previous  notice. 
This  abruptness  was  altogether  involuntary.  Absorbed 
in  reflections  of  such  unspeakable  moment,  I  had  no 
leisure  to  heed  the  niceties  of  punctilio.  I  discovered 
him  standing  with  his  back  towards  the  entrance.  A 
small  trunk,  with  its  lid  raised,  was  before  him,  in  which 
it  seemed  as  if  he  had  been  busy  in  packing  his  clothes. 
The  moment  of  my  entrance,  he  was  employed  in  gazing 
at  something  which  he  held  in  his  hand. 

I  imagined  that  I  fully  comprehended  the  scene.  The 
image  which  he  held  before  him,  and  by  which  his  atten 
tion  was  so  deeply  engaged,  I  doubted  not  to  be  my  own. 
These  preparations  for  his  journey,  the  cause  to  which  it 
was  to  be  imputed,  the  hopelessness  of  success  in  the  un 
dertaking  on  which  I  had  entered,  rushed  at  once  upon 
my  feelings,  and  dissolved  me  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

Startled  by  this  sound,  he  dropped  the  lid  of  the  trunk 
and  turned.  The  solemn  sadness  that  previously  over 
spread  his  countenance  gave  sudden  way  to  an  attitude 
and  look  of  the  most  vehement  astonishment.  Perceiv 
ing  me  unable  to  uphold  myself,  he  stepped  towards  me 
without  speaking,  and  supported  me  by  his  arm.  The 
kindness  of  this  action  called  forth  a  new  effusion  from 
my  eyes.  Weeping  was  a  solace  to  which,  at  that  time, 
I  had  not  grown  familiar,  and  which,  therefore,  was 
peculiarly  delicious.  Indignation  was  no  longer  to  be 
read  in  the  features  of  my  friend.  They  were  pregnant 
with  a  mixture  of  wonder  and  pity.  Their  expression 
was  easily  interpreted.  This  visit,  and  these  tears,  were 
tokens  of  my  penitence.  The  wretch  whom  he  had  stig 
matized  as  incurably  and  obdurately  wicked  now  showed 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  135 

herself  susceptible  of  remorse,  and  had  come  to  confess 
her  guilt. 

This  persuasion  had  no  tendency  to  comfort  me.  It 
only  showed  me,  with  new  evidence,  the  difficulty  of  the 
task  which  I  had  assigned  myself.  We  were  mutually 
silent.  I  had  less  power  and  less  inclination  than  ever 
to  speak.  I  extricated  myself  from  his  hold,  and  threw 
myself  on  a  sofa.  He  placed  himself  by  my  side,  and 
appeared  to  wait  with  impatience  and  anxiety  for  some 
beginning  of  the  conversation.  What  could  I  say?  If 
my  mind  had  suggested  any  thing  suitable  to  the  occa 
sion,  my  utterance  was  suffocated  by  tears. 

Frequently  he  attempted  to  speak,  but  seemed  de 
terred  by  some  degree  of  uncertainty  as  to  the  true 
nature  of  the  scene.  At  length,  in  faltering  accents, 
he  spoke : — 

"My  friend!  would  to  heaven  I  were  still  permitted 
to  call  you  by  that  name  !  The  image  that  I  once  adored 
existed  only  in  my  fancy ;  but,  though  I  cannot  hope  to 
see  it  realized,  you  may  not  be  totally  insensible  to  the 
horrors  of  that  gulf  into  which  you  are  about  to  plunge. 
What  heart  is  forever  exempt  from  the  goadings  of  com 
punction  and  the  influx  of  laudable  propensities? 

"  I  thought  you  accomplished  and  wise  beyond  the 
rest  of  women*  Not  a  sentiment  you  uttered,  not  a  look 
you  assumed,,  that  were  not,  in  my  apprehension,  fraught 
with  the  sublimities  of  rectitude  and  the  illuminations  of 
genius.  Deceit  has  some  bounds.  Your  education  could 
not  be  without  influence.  A  vigorous  understanding 
cannot  be  utterly  devoid  of  virtue ;  but  you  could  not 
counterfeit  the  powers  of  invention  and  reasoning.  I 
was  rash  in  my  invectives.  I  will  not  but  with  life  relin 
quish  all  hopes  of  you.  I  will  shut  out  every  proof  that 
would  tell  me  that  your  heart  is  incurably  diseased. 

"  You  come  to  restore  me  once  more  to  happiness ;  to 
convince  me  that  you  have  torn  her  mask  from  vice,  and 
feel  nothing  but  abhorrence  for  the  part  you  have  hitherto 
acted." 

At  these  words  my  equanimity  forsook  me.  For  a  mo 
ment  I  forgot  the  evidence  from  which  Pleyel's  opinions 
were  derived,  the  benevolence  of  his  remonstrances,  and 


136  WIELAND;    OR, 

the  grief  which  his  accents  bespoke ;  I  was  filled  with 
indignation  and  horror  at  charges  so  black ;  I  shrunk 
back  and  darted  at  him  a  look  of  disdain  and  anger. 
My  passion  supplied  me  with  words : — 

"What  detestable  infatuation  was  it  that  led  me 
hither !  "Why  do  I  patiently  endure  these  horrible  in 
sults  ?  My  offences  exist  only  in  your  own  distempered 
imagination ;  you  are  leagued  with  the  traitor  who  as 
sailed  my  life ;  you  have  vowed  the  destruction  of  my 
peace  and  honour.  I  deserve  infamy  for  listening  to 
calumnies  so  base !" 

These  words  were  heard  by  Pleyel  without  visible 
resentment.  His  countenance  relapsed  into  its  former 
gloom;  but  he  did  not  even  look  at  me.  The  ideas 
which  had  given  place  to  my  angry  emotions  returned, 
and  once  more  melted  me  into  tears.  "  Oh !"  I  ex 
claimed,  in  a  voice  broken  by  sobs,  "what  a  task  is 
mine  !  Compelled  to  hearken  to  charges  which  I  feel  to 
be  false,  but  which  I  know  to  be  believed  by  him  that 
utters  them ;  believed,  too,  not  without  evidence,  which, 
though  fallacious,  is  not  unplausible. 

"  I  came  hither  not  to  confess,  but  to  vindicate.  I 
know  the  source  of  your  opinions.  Wieland  has  informed 
me  on  what  your  suspicions  are  built.  These  suspicions 
are  fostered  by  you  as  certainties :  the  tenor  of  my  life, 
of  all  my  conversations  and  letters,  affords  me  no  secu 
rity;  every  sentiment  that  my  tongue  and  my  pen  have 
uttered  bear  testimony  to  the  rectitude  of  my  mind ;  but 
this  testimony  is  rejected.  I  am  condemned  as  brutally 
profligate ;  I  am  classed  with  the  stupidly  and  sordidly 
wicked. 

"  And  where  are  the  proofs  that  must  justify  so  foul 
and  so  improbable  an  accusation  ?  You  have  overheard 
a  midnight  conference.  Voices  have  saluted  your  ear, 
in  which  you  imagine  yourself  to  have  recognised  mine 
and  that  of  a  detected  villain.  The  sentiments  expressed 
were  not  allowed  to  outweigh  the  casual  or  concerted 
resemblance  of  voice, — sentiments  the  reverse  of  all  those 
whose  influence  my  former  life  had  attested,  denoting  a 
mind  polluted  by  grovelling  vices  and  entering  into  com 
pact  with  that  of  a  thief  and  a  murderer.  The  nature 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  137 

of  these  sentiments  did  not  enable  you  to  detect  the 
cheat,  did  not  suggest  to  you  the  possibility  that  my  voice 
had  been  counterfeited  by  another. 

"  You  were  precipitate  and  prone  to  condemn.  Instead 
of  rushing  on  the  impostors  and  comparing  the  eyidejoge 
of  sight  with  that  of  hearing,  you  stood  aloof,  or  you 
fled.  My  innocence  would  not  now  have  stood  in  need 
of  vindication  if  this  conduct  had  been  pursued.  That 
you  did  not  pursue  it,  your  present  thoughts  incontestably 
prove.  Yet  this  conduct  might  surely  have  been  ex 
pected  from  Pleyel.  That  he  would  not  hastily  impute 
the  blackest  of  crimes,  that  he  would  not  couple  my 
name  with  infamy  and  cover  me  with  ruin  for  inadequate 
or  slight  reasons,  might  reasonably  have  been  expected." 
The  sobs  which  convulsed  my  bosom  would  not  suffer  me 
to  proceed. 

Pleyel  was  for  a  moment  affected.  He  looked  at  me 
with  some  expression  of  doubt ;  but  this  quickly  gave 
place  to  a  mournful  solemnity.  He  fixed  his  eyes  on  the 
floor  as  in  reverie,  and  spoke  : — 

"  Two  hours  hence  I  am  gone.  Shall  I  carry  oway 
with  me  the  sorrow  that  is  now  my  guest  ?  or  shall  that 
sorrow  be  accumulated  tenfold  ?  What  is  she  that  is  now 
before  me  ?  Shall  every  hour  supply  me  with  new  proofs 
of  a  wickedness  beyond  example  ?  Already  I  deem  her 
the  most  abandoned  and  detestable  of  human  creatures. 
Her  coming  and  her  tears  imparted  a  gleam  of  hope ; 
but  that  gleam  has  vanished." 

He  now  fixed  his  eyes  upon  me,  and  every  muscle  in 
his  face  trembled.  His  tone  was  hollow  and  terrible  : — 
"  Thou  knowest  that  I  was  a  witness  of  your  interview, 
yet  thou  comest  hither  to  upbraid  me  for  injustice !  Thou 
canst  look  me  in  the  face  and  say  that  I  am  deceived ! 
An  inscrutable  Providence  has  fashioned  thee  for  some 
end.  Thou  wilt  live,  no  doubt,  to  fulfil  the  purposes 
of  thy  Maker,  if  he  repent  not  of  his  workmanship  and 
send  not  his  vengeance  to  exterminate  thee  ere  the  mea 
sure  of  thy  days  be  full.  Surely  nothing  in  the  shape 
of  man  can  vie  with  thee  ! 

"  But  I  thought  I  had  stifled  this  fury.  I  am  not  con 
stituted  thy  judge.  My  office  is  to  pity  and  amend,  and 


138  WIELAND. 

not  to  punish  and  revile.  I  deemed  myself  exempt  from 
all  tempestuous  passions.  I  had  almost  persuaded  my 
self  to  weep  over  thy  fall ;  but  I  am  frail  as  dust  and 
mutable  as  water:  I  am  calm,  I  am  compassionate,  only 
in  thy  absence.  Make  this  house,  this  room,  thy  abode 
as  long  as  thou  wilt,  but  forgive  me  if  I  prefer  solitude 
for  the  short  time  during  which  I  shall  stay."  Saying 
this,  he  motioned  as  if  to  leave  the  apartment. 

The  stormy  passions  of  this  man  affected  me  by  sym 
pathy.  I  ceased  to  weep.  I  was  motionless  and  speech 
less  with  agony.  I  sat  with  my  hands  clasped,  mutely 
gazing  after  him  as  he  withdrew.  I  desired  to  detain 
him,  but  was  unable  to  make  any  effort  for  that  purpose 
till  he  had  passed  out  of  the  room.  I  then  uttered  an 
involuntary  and  piercing  cry: — "Pleyel!  Art  thou 
gone?  Gone  forever?" 

At  this  summons  he  hastily  returned.  He  beheld  me 
wild,  pale,  gasping  for  breath,  and  my  head  already  sink 
ing  on  my  bosom.  A  painful  dizziness  seized  me,  and  I 
fainted  away. 

When  I  recovered,  I  found  myself  stretched  on  a  bed 
in  the  outer  apartment,  and  Pleyel,  with  two  female  ser 
vants,  standing  beside  it.  All  the  fury  and  scorn  which 
the  countenance  of  the  former  lately  expressed  had  now 
disappeared,  and  was  succeeded  by  the  most  tender 
anxiety.  As  soon  as  he  perceived  that  my  senses  were 
returned  to  me,  he  clasped  his  hands,  and  exclaimed, 
"  God  be  thanked !  you  are  once  more  alive.  I  had 
almost  despaired  of  your  recovery.  I  fear  I  have  been 
precipitate  and  unjust.  My  senses  must  have  been  the 
victims  of  some  inexplicable  and  momentary  frenzy. 
Forgive  me,  I  beseech  you ;  forgive  my  reproaches.  I 
would  purchase  conviction  of  your  purity  at  the  price  of 
my  existence  here  and  hereafter." 

He  once  more,  in  a  tone  of  the  most  fervent  tender 
ness,  besought  me  to  be  composed,  and  then  left  me  to 
the  care  of  the  women. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

HERE  was  wrought  a  surprising  change  in  my  friend. 
What  was  it  that  had  shaken  conviction  so  firm  ?  Had 
any  thing  occurred  during  my  fit,  adequate  to  produce  so 
total  an  alteration  ?  My  attendants  informed  me  that 
he  had  not  left  my  apartment ;  that  the  unusual  duration 
of  my  fit,  and  the  failure  for  a  time  of  all  the  means 
used  for  my  recovery,  had  filled  him  with  grief  and  dis 
may.  Did  he  regard  the  effect  which  his  reproaches  had 
produced  as  a  proof  of  my  sincerity? 

In  this  state  of  mind,  I  little  regarded  my  languors  of 
body.  I  rose  and  requested  an  interview  with  him  before 
my  departure,  on  which  I  was  resolved,  notwithstanding 
his  earnest  solicitation  to  spend  the  night  at  his  house. 
He  complied  with  my  request.  The  tenderness  which  he 
had  lately  betrayed  had  now  disappeared,  and  he  once 
more  relapsed  into  a  chilling  solemnity. 

I  told  him  that  I  was  preparing  to  return  to  my  bro 
ther's  ;  that  I  had  come  hither  to  vindicate  my  innocence 
from  the  foul  aspersions  which  he  had  cast  upon  it.  My 
pride  had  not  taken  refuge  in  silence  or  distance.  I  had 
not  relied  upon  -time,  or  the  suggestions  of  his  cooler 
thoughts,  to  confute  his  charges.  Conscious  as  I  was 
that  I  was  perfectly  guiltless,  and  entertaining  some 
value  for  his  good  opinion,  I  could  not  prevail  upon  my 
self  to  believe  that  my  efforts  to  make  my  innocence 
manifest  would  be  fruitless.  Adverse  appearances  might 
be  numerous  and  specious,  but  they  were  unquestionably 
false.  I  was  willing  to  believe  him  sincere,  that  he  made 
no  charges  which  he  himself  did  not  believe ;  but  these 
charges  were  destitute  of  truth.  The  grounds  of  his 
opinion  were  fallacious  ;  and  I  desired  an  opportunity  of 

139 


I4O  WIELAND;    OR, 

detecting  their  fallacy.  I  entreated  Mm  to  be  explicit, 
and  to  give  me  a  detail  of  what  he  had  heard  and  what 
he  had  seen. 

At  these  words  my  companion's  countenance  grew 
darker.  He  appeared  to  be  struggling  with  his  rage. 
He  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  but  his  accents  died  away 
ere  they  were  formed.  This  conflict  lasted  for  some 
minutes,  but  his  fortitude  was  finally  successful.  He 
spoke  as  follows  : — 

"  I  would  fain  put  an  end  to  this  hateful  scene ;  what 
I  shall  say  will  be  breath  idly  and  unprofitably  con 
sumed.  The  clearest  narrative  will  add  nothing  to  your 
present  knowledge.  You  are  acquainted  with  the 
grounds  of  my  opinion,  and  yet  you  avow  yourself 
innocent ;  why  then  should  I  rehearse  these  grounds  ? 
You  are  apprized  of  the  character  of  Carwin ;  why 
then  should  I  enumerate  the  discoveries  which  I  have 
made  respecting  him  ?  Yet,  since  it  is  your  request, — 
since,  considering  the  limitedness  of  human  faculties, 
some  error  may  possibly  lurk  in  those  appearances  which 
I  have  witnessed, — I  will  briefly  relate  what  I  know. 

"  Need  I  dwell  upon  the  impressions  which  your  con 
versation  and  deportment  originally  made  upon  me  ?  We 
parted  in  childhood ;  but  our  intercourse  by  letter  was 
copious  and  uninterrupted.  How  fondly  did  I  antici 
pate  a  meeting  with  one  whom  her  letters  had  previously 
taught  me  to  consider  as  the  first  of  women,  and  how 
fully  realized  were  the  expectations  that  I  had  formed ! 

"'Here,'  said  I,  'is  a  being  after  whom  sages  may 
model  their  transcendent  intelligence  and  painters  their 
ideal  beauty.  Here  is  exemplified  that  union  between 
intellect  and  form  which  has  hitherto  existed  only  in  the 
conceptions  of  the  poet.  I  have  watched  your  eyes; 
my  attention  has  hung  upon  your  lips.  I  have  ques 
tioned  whether  the  enchantments  of  your  voice  were 
more  conspicuous  in  the  intricacies  of  melody  or  the 
emphasis  of  rhetoric.  I  have  marked  the  transitions  of 
your  discourse,  the"  felicities  of  your  expression,  your 
refined  argumentation  and  glowing  imagery,  and  been 
forced  to  acknowledge  that  all  delights  were  meagre  and 
contemptible,  compared  with  those  connected  with  the 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  141 

audience  and  sight  of  you.  I  have  contemplated  your 
principles,  and  been  astonished  at  the  solidity  of  their 
foundation  and  the  perfection  of  their  structure.  I  have 
traced  you  to  your  home.  I  have  viewed  you  in  relation 
to  your  servants,  to  your  family,  to  your  neighbours, 
and  to  the  world.  I  have  seen  by  what  skilful  arrange 
ments  you  facilitate  the  performance  of  the  most  arduous 
and  complicated  duties ;  what  daily  accessions  of  strength 
your  judicious  discipline  bestowed  upon  your  memory ; 
what  correctness  and  abundance  of  knowledge  was  daily 
experienced  by  your  unwearied  application  to  books  and 
to  writing.  *  If  she  that  possesses  so  much  in  the  bloom 
of  youth  will  go  on  accumulating  her  stores,  what,'  said 
I,  '  is  the  picture  she  will  display  at  a  mature  age  ?' 

"You  know  not  the  accuracy  of  my  observation.  I 
was  desirous  that  others  should  profit  by  an  example  so 
rare.  I  therefore  noted  down  in  writing  every  particular 
of  your  conduct.  I  was  anxious  to  benefit  by  an  oppor 
tunity  so  seldom  afforded  us.  I  laboured  not  to  omit  the 
slightest  shade  or  the  most  petty  line  in  your  portrait. 
Here  there  was  no  other  task  incumbent  on  me  but  to 
copy;  there  was  no  need  to  exaggerate  or  overlook  in 
order  to  produce  a  more  unexceptionable  pattern.  Here 
was  a  combination  of  harmonies  and  graces  incapable  of 
diminution  or  accession  without  injury  to  its  completeness. 

"  I  found  no  end  and  no  bounds  to  my  task.  No  dis 
play  of  a  scene  like  this  could  be  chargeable  with  redun 
dancy  or  superfluity.  Even  the  colour  of  a  shoe,  the 
knot  of  a  ribbon,  or  your  attitude  in  plucking  a  rose, 
were  of  moment  to  be  recorded.  Even  the  arrangements 
of  your  breakfast-table  and  your  toilet  have  been  amply 
displayed. 

"I  know  that  mankind  are  more  easily  enticed  to 
virtue  by  example  than  by  precept.  I  know  that  the 
absoluteness  of  a  model,  when  supplied  by  invention, 
diminishes  its  salutary  influence,  since  it  is  useless,  we 
think,  to  strive  after  that  which  we  know  to  be  beyond  our 
reach.  But  the  picture  which  I  drew  was  not  a  phantom : 
as  a  model,  it  was  devoid  of  imperfection ;  and  to  aspire 
to  that  height  which  had  been  really  attained  was  by  no 
means  unreasonable.  I  had  another  and  more  inte- 


142  WIELAND;    OR, 

resting  object  in  view.  One  existed  who  claimed  all  my 
tenderness.  Here,  in  all  its  parts,  was  a  model  worthy 
of  assiduous  study  and  indefatigable  imitation.  I  called 
upon  her,  as  she  wished  to  secure  and  enhance  my 
esteem,  to  mould  her  thoughts,  her  words,  her  counte 
nance,  her  actions,  by  this  pattern. 

"The  task  was  exuberant  of  pleasure;  and  I  was 
deeply  engaged  in  it,  when  an  imp  of  mischief  was  let 
loose  in  the  form  of  Carwin.  I  admired  his  powers  and 
accomplishments.  I  did  not  wonder  that  they  were 
admired  by  you.  On  the  rectitude  of  your  judgment, 
however,  I  relied  to  keep  this  admiration  within  discreet 
and  scrupulous  bounds.  I  assured  myself  that  the 
strangeness  of  his  deportment  and  the  obscurity  of  his 
life  would  teach  you  caution.  Of  all  errors,  my  know 
ledge  of  your  character  informed  me  that  this  was  least 
likely  to  befall  you. 

"You  were  powerfully  affected  by  his  first  appear 
ance  ;  you  were  bewitched  by  his  countenance  and  his 
tones.  Your  description  was  ardent  and  pathetic ;  I 
listened  to  you  with  some  emotions  of  surprise.  The  por 
trait  you  drew  in  his  absence,  and  the  intensity  with 
which  you  mused  upon  it,  were  new  and  unexpected  inci 
dents.  They  bespoke  a  sensibility  somewhat  too  vivid, 
but  from  which,  while  subjected  to  the  guidance  of  an 
understanding  like  yours,  there  was  nothing  to  dread. 

"A  more  direct  intercourse  took  place  between  you. 
I  need  not  apologize  for  the  solicitude  which  I  enter 
tained  for  your  safety.  He  that  gifted  me  with  percep 
tion  of  excellence  compelled  me  to  love  it.  In  the  midst 
of  danger  and  pain,  my  contemplations  have  ever  been 
cheered  by  your  image.  Every  object  in  competition 
with  you  was  worthless  and  trivial.  No  price  was  too 
great  by  which  your  safety  could  be  purchased.  For 
that  end,  the  sacrifice  of  ease,  of  health,  and  even  of 
life,  would  cheerfully  have  been  made  by  me.  What 
wonder,  then,  that  I  scrutinized  the  sentiments  and  de 
portment  of  this  man  with  ceaseless  vigilance,  that  I 
watched  your  words  and  your  looks  when  he  was  present, 
and  that  I  extracted  cause  for  the  deepest  inquietude 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  143 

from  every  token  which  you  gave  of  having  put  your 
happiness  into  this  man's  keeping  ? 

"I  was  cautious  in  deciding.  I  recalled  the  various 
conversations  in  which  the  topics  of  love  and  marriage 
had  been  discussed.  As  a  woman,  young,  beautiful,  and 
independent,  it  behooved  you  to  have  fortified  your  mind 
with  just  principles  on  this  subject.  Your  principles  were 
eminently  just.  Had  not  their  rectitude  and  their  firm 
ness  been  attested  by  your  treatment  of  that  specious 
seducer  Dash  wood?  These  principles,  I  was  prone""  to 
believe,  exempted  you  from  danger  in  this  new  state  of 
things.  I  was  not  the  last  to  pay  my  homage  to  the 
unrivalled  capacity,  insinuation,  and  eloquence  of  this 
man.  I  have  disguised,  but  could  never  stifle,  the  con 
viction  that  his  eyes  and  voice  had  a  witchcraft  in  them 
which  rendered  him  truly  formidable ;  but  I  reflected  on 
the  ambiguous  expression  of  his  countenance, — an  ambi 
guity  which  you  were  the  first  to  remark, — on  the  cloud 
which  obscured  his  character,  and  on  the  suspicious  nature 
of  that  concealment  which  he  studied,  and  concluded  you 
to  be  safe.  I  denied  the  obvious  construction  to  appear 
ances.  I  referred  your  conduct  to  some  principle  which 
had  not  been  hitherto  disclosed,  but  which  was  recon 
cilable  with  those  already  known. 

"I  was  not  suffered  to  remain  long  in  this  suspense. 
One  evening,  you  may  recollect,  I  came  to  your  house, 
where  it  was  my  purpose,  as  usual,  to  lodge,  somewhat 
earlier  than  ordinary.  I  spied  a  light  in  your  chamber 
as  I  approached  from  the  outside,  and,  on  inquiring  of 
Judith,  was  informed  that  you  were  writing.  As  your 
kinsman  and  friend  and  fellow-lodger,  I  thought  I  had 
a  right  to  be  familiar.  You  were  in  your  chamber;  but 
your  employment  and  the  time  were  such  as  to  make  it 
no  infraction  of  decorum  to  follow  you  thither.  The 
spirit  of  mischievous  gayety  possessed  me.  I  proceeded 
on  tiptoe.  You  did  not  perceive  my  entrance;  and  I 
advanced  softly  till  I  was  able  to  overlook  your  shoulder. 

"  I  had  gone  thus  far  in  error,  and  had  no  power  to  re 
cede.  How  cautiously  should  we  guard  against  the  first 
inroads  of  temptation !  I  knew  that  to  pry  into  your 
papers  was  criminal;  but  I  reflected  that  no  sentiment 


144  WIELAND;    OR, 

of  yours  was  of  a  nature  which  made  it  your  interest  to 
j  conceal  it.  You  wrote  much  more  than  you  permitted 
\  your  Jrienda.  to  peruse.  My  curiosity  was  strong,  and  I 
had  only  to  throw  a  glance  upon  the  paper  to  secure  its 
gratification.  I  should  never  have  deliberately  committed 
an  act  like  this.  The  slightest  obstacle  would  have  re 
pelled  me;  but  my  eye  glanced  almost  spontaneously 
upon  the  paper.  I  caught  only  parts  of  sentences ;  but 
my  eyes  comprehended  more  at  a  glance,  because  the 
characters  were  short-hand.  I  lighted  on  the  words 
summer-house,  midnight,  and  made  out  a  passage  which 
spoke  of  the  propriety  and  of  the  effects  to  be  expected 
from  another  interview.  All  this  passed  in  less  than  a 
moment.  I  then  checked  myself,  and  made  myself  known 
to  you  by  a  tap  upon  your  shoulder. 

"  I  could  pardon  and  account  for  some  trifling  alarm ; 
but  your  trepidation  and  blushes  were  excessive.  You 
hurried  the  paper  out  of  sight,  and  seemed  too  anxious  to 
discover  whether  I  knew  the  contents  to  allow  yourself 
to  make  any  inquiries.  I  wondered  at  these  appearances 
of  consternation,  but  did  not  reason  on  them  until  I  had 
retired.  When  alone,  these  incidents  suggested  them 
selves  to  my  reflections  anew. 

"  To  what  scene,  or  what  interview,  I  asked,  did  you 
allude  ?  Your  disappearance  on  a  former  evening,  my 
tracing  you  to  the  recess  in  the  bank,  your  silence  on  my 
first  and  second  call,  your  vague  answers  and  invincible 
embarrassment  when  you  at  length  ascended  the  hill,  I 
recollected  with  new  surprise.  Could  this  be  the  summer- 
house  alluded  to  ?  A  certain  timidity  and  consciousness 
had  generally  attended  you,  when  this  incident  and  this 
recess  had  been  the  subjects  of  conversation.  Nay,  I 
imagined  that  the  last  time  that  adventure  was  mentioned, 
which  happened  in  the  presence  of  Carwin,  the  counte 
nance  of  the  latter  betrayed  some  emotion.  Could  the 
interview  have  been  with  him  ? 

"  This  was  an  idea  calculated  to  rouse  every  faculty 
to  contemplation.  An  interview  at  that  hour,  in  this 
darksome  retreat,  with  a  man  of  his  mysterious  but 
formidable  character! — a  clandestine  interview,  and  one 
which  you  afterwards  endeavoured  with  so  much  solicitude 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  145 

to  conceal !  It  was  a  fearful  and  portentous  occurrence. 
I  could  not  measure  his  power  or  fathom  his  designs. 
Had  he  rifled  from  you  the  secret  of  your  love,  and 
reconciled  you  to  concealment  and  nocturnal  meetings  ? 
I  scarcely  ever  spent  a  night  of  more  inquietude. 

"I  knew  not  how  to  act.  The  ascertainment  of  this 
man's  character  and  views  seemed  to  be,  in  the  first  place, 
necessary.  Had  he  openly  preferred  his  suit  to  you,  we 
should  have  been  empowered  to  make  direct  inquiries; 
but,  since  he  had  chosen  this  obscure  path,  it  seemed 
reasonable  to  infer  that  his  character  was  exceptionable. 
It  at  least  subjected  us  to  the  necessity  of  resorting  to 
other  means  of  information.  Yet  the  improbability  that 
you  should  commit  a  deed  of  such  rashness  made  me  re 
flect  anew  upon  the  insufficiency  of  those  grounds  on 
which  my  suspicions  had  been  built,  and  almost  to  con 
demn  myself  for  harbouring  them. 

"Though  it  was  mere  conjecture  that  the  interview 
spoken  of  had  taken  place  with  Carwin,  yet  two  ideas 
occurred  to  involve  me  in  the  most  painful  doubts.  This 
man's  reasonings  might  be  so  specious,  and  his  artifices 
so  profound,  that,  aided  by  the  passion  which  you  had 
conceived  for  him,  he  had  finally  succeeded ;  or  his  situa 
tion  might  be  such  as  to  justify  the  secrecy  which  you 
maintained.  In  neither  case  did  my  wildest  reveries 
suggest  to  me  that  your  honour  had  been  forfeited. 

"I  could  not  talk  with  you  on  this  subject.  If  the 
imputation  was  false,  its  atrociousness  would  have  justly 
drawn  upon  me  your  resentment,  and  I  must  have  ex 
plained  by  what  facts  it  had  been  suggested.  If  it  were 
true,  no  benefit  would  follow  from  the  mention  of  it. 
You  had  chosen  to  conceal  it  for  some  reasons;  and, 
whether  these  reasons  were  true  or  false,  it  was  proper 
to  discover  and  remove  them  in  the  first  place.  Finally, 
I  acquiesced  in  the  least  painful  supposition,  trammelled 
as  it  was  with  perplexities, — that  Carwin  was  upright,  and 
that,  if  the  reasons  of  your  silence  were  known,  they 
would  be  found  to  be  just. 
10 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  THREE  days  have  elapsed  since  this  occurrence.  I 
have  been  haunted  by  perpetual  inquietude.  To  bring 
myself  to  regard  Carwin  without  terror,  and  to  acquiesce 
in  the  belief  of  your  safety,  was  impossible.  Yet  to  put 
an  end  to  my  doubts  seemed  to  be  impracticable.  If  some 
light  could  be  reflected  on  the  actual  situation  of  this 
man,  a  direct  path  would  present  itself.  If  he  were, 
contrary  to  the  tenor  of  his  conversation,  cunning  and 
malignant,  to  apprize  you  of  this  would  be  to  place  you 
in  security.  If  he  were  merely  unfortunate  and  innocent, 
most  readily  would  I  espouse  his  cause ;  and  if  his  inten 
tions  wrere  upright  with  regard  to  you,  most  eagerly  would 
I  sanctify  your  choice  by  my  approbation. 

"It  would  be  vain  to  call  upon  Carwin  for  an  avowal 
of  his  deeds.  \  It  was  better  to  know  nothing,  than  to  be  \ 
deceived  by  an  artful  tale.  What  he  was  unwilling  to  ( 
communicate  (and  this  unwillingness  had  been  repeatedly 
manifested)  could  never  be  extorted  from  him.  Im 
portunity  might  be  appeased  or  imposture  effected  by 
fallacious  representations.  To  the  rest  of  the  world  he 
was  unknown.  I  had  often  made  him  the  subject  of  dis 
course  ;  but  a  glimpse  of  his  figure  in  the  street  was  the 
sum  of  their  knowledge  who  knew  most.  None  had  ever 
seen  him  before,  and  all  received  as  new  the  information 
which  my  intercourse  with  him  in  Valencia,  and  my  pre 
sent  intercourse,  enabled  me  to  give. 

"Wieland  was  your  brother.  If  he  had  really  made 
you  the  object  of  his  courtship,  was  not  a  brother  author 
ized  to  interfere  and  demand  from  him  the  confession  of 
his  views  ?  Yet  what  were  the  grounds  on  which  I  had 
reared  this  supposition  ?  Would  they  justify  a  measure 
like  this?  Surely  not. 
146 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  147 

"In  the  course  of  my  restless  meditations,  it  occurred 
to  me  at  length  that  my  duty  required  me  to  speak  to 
you,  to  confess  the  indecorum  of  which  I  had  been  guilty, 
and  to  state  the  reflections  to  which  it  had  led  me.  I 
was  prompted  by  no  mean  or  selfish  views.  The  heart 
within  my  breast  was  not  more  precious  than  your  safety : 
most  cheerfully  would  I  have  interposed  my  life  between 
you  and  danger.  Would  you  cherish  resentment  at  my 
conduct  ?  When  acquainted  with  the  motive  which  pro 
duced  it,  it  would  not  only  exempt  me  from  censure,  but 
entitle  me  to  gratitude. 

"Yesterday  had  been  selected  for  the  rehearsal  of  the 
newly-imported  tragedy.  I  promised  to  be  present.  The 
state  of  my  thoughts  but  little  qualified  me  for  a  per 
former  or  auditor  in  such  a  scene ;  but  I  reflected  that 
after  it  was  finished  I  should  return  home  with  you,  and 
should  then  enjoy  an  opportunity  of  discoursing  with  you 
fully  on  this  topic.  My  resolution  was  not  formed  with 
out  a  remnant  of  doubt  as  to  its  propriety.  When  I 
left  this  house  to  perform  the  visit  I  had  promised,  my 
mind  was  full  of  apprehension  and  despondency.  The 
dubiousness  of  the  event  of  our  conversation,  fear  that 
my  interference  was  too  late  to  secure  your  peace,  and 
the  uncertainty  to  which  hope  gave  birth,  whether  I  had 
not  erred  in  believing  you  devoted  to  this  man,  or,  at 
least,  in  imagining  that  he  had  obtained  your  consent 
to  midnight  conferences,  distracted  me  with  contradictory 
opinions  and  repugnant  emotions. 

"I  can  assign  no  reason  for  calling  at  Mrs.  Baynton's. 
I  had  seen  her  in  the  morning,  and  knew  her  to  be  well. 
The  concerted  hour  had  nearly  arrived,  and  yet  I  turned 
up  the  street  which  leads  to  her  house  and  dismounted  at 
her  door.  I  entered  the  parlour  and  threw  myself  in  a 
chair.  I  saw  and  inquired  for  no  one.  My  whole  frame 
was  overpowered  by  dreary  and  comfortless  sensations. 
One  idea  possessed  me  wholly :  the  inexpressible  import 
ance  of  unveiling  the  designs  and  character  of  Carwin, 
and  the  utter  improbability  that  this  ever  would  be  effected. 
Some  instinct  induced  me  to  lay  my  hand  upon  a  news 
paper.  I  had  perused  all  the  general  intelligence  it 


148  WIELAND;    OR, 

contained  in  the  morning,  and  at  the  same  spot.  The 
act  was  rather  mechanical  than  voluntary. 

"I  threw  a  languid  glance  at  the  first  column  that  pre 
sented  itself.  The  first  words  which  I  read  began  with 
the  offer  of  a  reward  of  three  hundred  guineas  for  the 
apprehension  of  a  convict  under  sentence  of  death,  who 
had  escaped  from  Newgate  prison  in  Dublin.  Good 
heaven  !  how  every  fibre  of  my  frame  tingled  when  I 
proceeded  to  read  that  the  name  of  the  criminal  was 
Francis  Carwin.! 

"The  descriptions  of  his  person  and  address  were 
minute.  His  stature,  hair,  complexion,  the  extraordi 
nary  position  and  arrangement  of  his  features  his 
awkward  and  disproportionate  form,  his  gesture  and 
gait,  corresponded  perfectly  with  those  of  our  myste 
rious  visitant.  He  had  been  found  guilty  in  two  indict 
ments, — one  for  the  murder  of  the  Lady  Jane  Conway, 
and  the  other  for  a  robbery  committed  on  the  person  of 
the  Honourable  Mr.  Ludloe. 

"I  repeatedly  perused  this  passage.  The  ideas  which 
flowed  in  upon  my  mind  affected  me  like  an  instant 
transition  from  death  to  life.  The  purpose  dearest  to 
my  heart  was  thus  effected,  at  a  time  and  by  means  the 
least  of  all  others  within  the  scope  of  my  foresight. 
But  what  purpose  ?  Carwin  was  detected.  Acts  of  the 
blackest  and  most  sordid  guilt  had  been  committed  by 
him.  Here  was  evidence  which  imparted  to  my  under 
standing  the  most  luminous  certainty.  The  name,  visage, 
and  deportment  were  the  same.  Between  the  time  of 
his  escape  and  his  appearance  among  us  there  was  a 
sufficient  agreement.  Such  was  the  man  with  whom  I 
suspected  you  to  maintain  a  clandestine  correspondence. 
Should  I  not  haste  to  snatch  you  from  the  talons  of  this 
vulture?  Should  I  see  you  rushing  to  the  verge  of  a 
dizzy  precipice,  and  not  stretch  forth  a  hand  to  pull  you 
back  ?  I  had  no  need  to  deliberate.  I  thrust  the  paper 
in  my  pocket,  and  resolved  to  obtain  an  immediate  con 
ference  with  you.  For  a  time,  no  other  image  made  its 
way  to  my  understanding.  At  length  it  occurred  to 
me,  that  though  the  information  I  possessed  was,  in  one 
sense,  sufficient,  yet,  if  more  could  be  obtained,  more  was 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  149 

desirable.  This  passage  was  copied  from  a  British  paper ; 
part  of  it  only,  perhaps,  was  transcribed.  The  printer 
was  in  possession  of  the  original. 

"  Towards  his  house  I  immediately  turned  my  horse's 
head.  He  produced  the  paper,  but  I  found  nothing  more 
than  had  already  been  seen.  While  busy  in  perusing  it, 
the  printer  stood  by  my  side.  He  noticed  the  object  of 
which  I  was  in  search.  4  Ay,'  said  he,  'that  is  a  strange 
affair.  I  should  never  have  met  with  it  had  not  Mr. 
Hallet  sent  to  me  the  paper,  with  a  particular  request 
to  republish  that  advertisement.' 

"  Mr.  Hallet !  What  reasons  could  he  have  for  making 
this  request  ?  Had  the  paper  sent  to  him  been  accom 
panied  by  any  information  respecting  the  convict  ?  Had 
he  personal  or  extraordinary  reasons  for  desiring  its  re- 
publication  ?  This  was  to  be  known  only  in  one  way. 
I  speeded  to  his  house.  In  answer  to  my  interrogations, 
he  told  me  that  Ludloe  had  formerly  been  in  America, 
and  that  during  his  residence  in  this  city  considerable 
intercourse  had  taken  place  between  them.  Hence  a 
confidence  arose,  which  has  since  been  kept  alive  by  oc 
casional  letters.  He  had  lately  received  a  letter  from 
him,  enclosing  the  newspaper  from  which  this  extract 
had  been  made.  He  put  it  into  my  hands,  and  pointed 
out  the  passages  which  related  to  -Carwin. 

"Ludloe  confirms  the  facts  of  his  conviction  and 
escape ;  and  adds  that  he  had  reason  to  believe  him  to 
have  embarked  for  America.  He  describes  him  in  gene 
ral  terms,  as  the  most  incomprehensible  and  formidable 
among  men;  as  engaged  in  schemes  reasonably  sus 
pected  to  be  in  the  highest  degree  criminal,  but  such  as 
no  human  intelligence  is  able  to  unravel ;  that  his  ends 
are  pursued  by  means  which  leave  it  in  doubt  whether 
he  be  not  in  league  with  some  infernal  spirit ;  that  his 
crimes  have  hitherto  been  perpetrated  with  the  aid  of 
some  unknown  but  desperate  accomplices ;  that  he  wages 
a  perpetual  war  against  the  happiness  of  mankind,  and 
sets  his  engines  of  destruction  at  work  against  every 
object  that  presents  itself. 

"  This  is  the  substance  of  the  letter.  Hallet  expressed 
some  surprise  at  the  curiosity  which  was  manifested  by 


WIELAND;    OR, 

me  on  this  occasion.  I  was  too  much  absorbed  by  the 
ideas  suggested  by  this  letter  to  pay  attention  to  his  re 
marks.  I  shuddered  with  the  apprehension  of  the  evil 
to  which  our  indiscreet  familiarity  with  this  man  had 
probably  exposed  us.  I  burned  with  impatience  to  see 
you,  and  to  do  what  in  me  lay  to  avert  the  calamity 
which  threatened  us.  It  was  already  five  o'clock. 
Night  was  hastening,  and  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost. 
On  leaving  Mr.  Hallet's  house,  who  should  meet  me  in 
the  street  but  Bertrand,  the  servant  whom  I  left  in  Ger 
many  ?  His  appearance  and  accoutrements  bespoke  him  to 
have  just  alighted  from  a  toilsome  and  long  journey.  I 
was  not  wholly  without  expectation  of  seeing  him  about  this 
time,  but  no  one  was  then  more  distant  from  my  thoughts. 
You  know  what  reasons  I  have  for  anxiety  respecting 
scenes  with  which  this  man  was  conversant.  Carwin 
was  for  a  moment  forgotten.  In  answer  to  my  vehe 
ment  inquiries,  Bertrand  produced  a  copious  packet.  I 
shall  not  at  present  mention  its  contents,  nor  the  mea 
sures  which  they  obliged  me  to  adopt.  I  bestowed  a 
brief  perusal  on  these  papers,  and,  having  given  some 
directions  to  Bertrand,  resumed  my  purpose  with  regard 
to  you.  My  horse  I  was  obliged  to  resign  to  my  ser 
vant,  he  being  charged  with  a  commission  that  required 
speed.  The  clock  had  struck  ten,  and  Mettingen  was 
five  miles  distant.  I  was  to  journey  thither  on  foot. 
These  circumstances  only  added  to  my  expedition. 

"As  I  passed  swiftly  along,  I  reviewed  all  the  inci 
dents  accompanying  the  appearance  and  deportment  of 
that  man  among  us.  Late  events  have  been  inexplicable 
and  mysterious  beyond  any  of  which  I  have  either  read 
or  heard.  These  events  were  coeval  with  Carwin's  in 
troduction.  I  am  unable  to  explain  their  origin  and 
mutual  dependence ;  but  I  do  not,  on  that  account,  be 
lieve  them  to  have  a  supernatural  original.  Is  not  this 
man  the  agent  ?  Some  of  them  seem  to  be  propitious ; 
but  what  should  I  think  of  those  threats  of  assassination 
with  which  you  were  lately  alarmed  ?  Bloodshed  is  the 
trade  and  horror  is  the  element  of  this  man.  The  pro 
cess  by  which  the  sympathies  of  nature  are  extinguished 
in  our  hearts,  by  which  evil  is  made  our  good,  and  by 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  151 

which  we  are  made  susceptible  of  no  activity  but  in  the 
infliction  and  no  joy  but  in  the  spectacle  of  woes,  is 
an  obvious  process.  As  to  alliance  with  evil  genii,  the 
power  and  the  malice  of  demons  have  been  a  thousand 
times  exemplified  in  human  beings.  There  are  no  devils 
but  those  which  are  begotten  upon  selfishness  and  reared 
by  cunning. 

"Now,  indeed,  the  scene  was  changed.     It  was  not 
his  secret  poniard  that  I  dreaded.     It  was  only  the  suc 
cess  of  his  efforts  to  make  you  a  confederate  in  your 
own  destruction,  to  make  your  will  the  instrument  byv 
which  he  might  bereave  you  of  liberty  and  honour. 

"I  took,  as  usual,  the  path  through  your  brother's 
ground.  I  ranged  with  celerity  and  silence  along  the 
bank.  I  approached  the  fence  which  divides  Wieland's 
estate  from  yours.  The  recess  in  the  bank  being  near 
this  line,  it  being  necessary  for  me  to  pass  near  it,  my 
mind  being  tainted  with  inveterate  suspicions  concerning 
you,  suspicions  which  were  indebted  for  their  strength 
to  incidents  connected  with  this  spot,  what  wonder  that 
it  seized  upon  my  thoughts  ? 

"I  leaped  on  the  fence;  but  before  I  descended  on 
the  opposite  side  I  paused  to  survey  the  scene.  Leaves 
dropping  with  dew  and  glistening  in  the  moon's  rays, 
with  no  moving  object  to  molest  the  deep  repose,  filled 
me  with  security  and  hope.  I  left  the  station  at  length, 
and  tended  forward.  You  were  probably  at  rest.  How 
should  I  communicate,  without  alarming  you,  the  intelli 
gence  of  my  arrival  ?  An  immediate  interview  was  to 
be  procured.  I  could  not  bear  to  think  that  a  minute 
should  be  lost  by  remissness  or  hesitation.  Should  I 
knock  at  the  door  ?  or  should  I  stand  under  your  cham 
ber  windows,  which  I  perceived  to  be  open,  and  awaken 
you  by  my  calls  ? 

"  These  reflections  employed  me  as  I  passed  opposite 
to  the  summer-house.  I  had  scarcely  gone  by,  when 
my  ear  caught  a  sound  unusual  at  this  time  and  place. 
It  was  almost  too  faint  and  too  transient  to  allow  me  a 
distinct  perception  of  it.  I  stopped  to  listen ;  presently 
it  was  heard  again,  and  now  it  was  somewhat  in  a  louder 
key.  It  was  laughter;  and  unquestionably  produced 


152  WIELAND;    OR, 

by  a  female  voice.  That  voice  was  familiar  to  my  senses. 
It  was  yours. 

"Whence  it  came  I  was  at  first  at  a  loss  to  conjecture; 
but  this  uncertainty  vanished  when  it  was  heard  the  third 
time.  I  threw  back  my  eyes  towards  the  recess.  Every 
other  organ  and  limb  was  useless  to  me.  I  did  not  rea 
son  on  the  subject.  I  did  not,  in  a  direct  manner,  draw 
my  conclusions  from  the  hour,  the  place,  the  hilarity 
which  this  sound  betokened,  and  the  circumstance  of 
having  a  companion,  which  it  no  less  incontestably 
proved.  In  an  instant,  as  it  were,  my  heart  was  invaded 
with  cold,  and  the  pulses  of  life  at  a  stand. 

"Why  should  I  go  farther?  Why  should  I  return? 
Should  I  not  hurry  to  a  distance  from  a  sound  which, 
though  formerly  so  sweet  and  delectable,  was  now  more 
hideous  than  the  shrieks  of  owls  ? 

"  I  had  no  time  to  yield  to  this  impulse.  The  thought 
of  approaching  and  listening  occurred  to  me.  I  had  no 
doubt  of  which  I  was  conscious.  Yet  my  certainty  was 
capable  of  increase.  I  was  likewise  stimulated  by  a 
sentiment  that  partook  of  rage.  I  was  governed  by  a 
half-formed  and  tempestuous  resolution  to  break  in  upon 
your  interview  and  strike  you  dead  with  my  upbraiding. 

"  I  approached  with  the  utmost  caution.  When  I 
reached  the  edge  of  the  bank  immediately  above  the 
summer-house,  I  thought  I  heard  voices  from  below,  as 
busy  in  conversation.  The  steps  in  the  rock  are  clear 
of  bushy  impediments.  They  allowed  me  to  descend 
into  a  cavity  beside  the  building  without  being  detected. 
Thus  to  lie  in  wait  could  only  be  justified  by  the  mo- 
mentousness  of  the  occasion." 

Here  Pleyel  paused  in  his  narrative  and  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  me.  Situated  as  I  was,  my  horror  and  astonish 
ment  at  this  tale  gave  way  to  compassion  for  the  anguish 
which  the  countenance  of  my  friend  betrayed.  I  re 
flected  on  his'force  of  understanding.  I  reflected  on  the 
powers  of  my  enemy.  I  could  easily  divine  the  sub 
stance  of  the  conversation  that  was  overheard.  Carwin 
had  constructed  his  plot  in  a  manner  suited  to  the  cha 
racters  of  those  whom  he  had  selected  for  his  victims. 
I  saw  that  the  convictions  of  Pleyel  were  immutable.  I 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  153 

forbore  to  struggle  against  the  storm,  because  I  saw  that 
all  struggles  would  be  fruitless.  I  was  calm ;  but  my 
calmness  was  the  torpor  of  despair,  and  not  the  tran 
quillity  of  fortitude.  It  was  calmness  invincible  by  any 
thing  that  his  grief  and  his  fury  could  suggest  to  Pleyel. 
He  resumed : — 

"  Woman !  wilt  thou  hear  me  further?  Shall  I  go  on 
to  repeat  the  conversation  ?  Is  it  shame  that  makes  thee 
tongue-tied  ?  Shall  I  go  on  ?  or  art  thou  satisfied  with 
what  has  been  already  said?" 

I  bowed  my  head.  "Go  on,"  said  I.  "I  make  not 
this  request  in  the  hope  of  undeceiving  you.  I  shall  no 
longer  contend  with  my  own  weakness.  The  storm  is 
let  loose,  and  I  shall  peaceably  submit  to  be  driven  by 
its  fury.  But  go  on.  This  conference  will  end  only 
with  affording  me  a  clearer  foresight  of  my  destiny;  but 
that  will  be  some  satisfaction,  and  I  will  not  part  with 
out  it." 

Why,  on  hearing  these  words,  did  Pleyel  hesitate  ? 
Did  some  unlooked-for  doubt  insinuate  itself  into  his 
mind  ?  Was  his  belief  suddenly  shaken  by  my  looks,  or 
my  words,  or  by  some  newly-recollected  circumstance  ? 
Whencesoever  it  arose,  it  could  not  endure  the  test  of 
deliberation.  In  a  few  minutes  the  flame  of  resentment 
was  again  lighted  up  in  his  bosom.  He  proceeded  with 
his  accustomed  vehemence  : — 

"  I  hate  myself  for  this  folly.  I  can  find  no  apology 
for  this  tale.  Yet  I  am  irresistibly  impelled  to  relate  it. 
She  that  hears  me  is  apprized  of  every  particular.  I 
have  only  to  repeat  to  her  her  own  words.  She  will 
listen  with  a  tranquil  air,  and  the  spectacle  of  her  ob 
duracy  will  drive  me  to  some  desperate  act.  Why  then 
should  I  persist?  yet  persist  I  must." 

Again  he  paused.  "  No  !"  said  he  ;  "  it  is  impossible 
to  repeat  your  avowals  of  love,  your  appeals  to  former 
confessions  of  your  tenderness,  to  former  deeds  of  dis 
honour,  to  the  circumstances  of  the  first  interview  that 
took  place  between  you.  It  was  on  that  night  when  I 
traced  you  to  this  recess.  Thither  had  he  enticed  you, 
and  there  had  you  ratified  an  unhallowed  compact  by 
admitting  him 


154  WIELAND;    OR, 

"  Great  God !  thou  witnessedst  the  agonies  that  tore 
my  bosom  at  that  moment !  thou  witnessedst  my  efforts 
to  repel  the  testimony  of  my  ears !  It  was  in  vain  that 
you  dwelt  upon  the  confusion  which  my  unlooked-for 
summons  excited  in  you;  the  tardiness  with  which  a 
suitable  excuse  occurred  to  you ;  your  resentment  that 
my  impertinent  intrusion  had  put  an  end  to  that  charm 
ing  interview;  a  disappointment  for  which  you  endea 
voured  to  compensate  yourself  by  the  frequency  and 
duration  of  subsequent  meetings. 

"  In  vain  you  dwelt  upon  incidents  of  which  you  only 
could  be  conscious ;  incidents  that  occurred  on  occasions 
on  which  none  besides  your  own  family  were  witnesses. 
In  vain  was  your  discourse  characterized  by  peculiarities 
inimitable  of  sentiment  and  language.  My  conviction 
wras  effected  only  by  an  accumulation  of  the  same  tokens. 
I  yielded  not  but  to  evidence  which  took  away  the  power 
to  withhold  my  faith. 

"My  sight  was  of  no  use  to  me.  Beneath  so  thick  an 
umbrage  the  darkness  was  intense.  Hearing  wras  the 
only  avenue  to  information  which  the  circumstances 
allowed  to  be  open.  I  was  couched  within  three  feet  of 
you.  Why  should  I  approach  nearer  ?  I  could  not  con 
tend  with  your  betrayer.  What  could  be  the  purpose  of 
a  contest  ?  You  stood  in  no  need  of  a  protector.  What 
could  I  do  but  retire  from  the  spot  overwhelmed  with 
confusion  and  dismay?  I  sought  my  chamber,  and  en 
deavoured  to  regain  my  composure.  The  door  of  the 
house,  which  I  found  open,  your  subsequent  entrance, 
closing,  and  fastening  it,  and  going  into  your  chamber, 
which  had  been  thus  long  deserted,  were  only  confirma 
tions  of  the  truth. 

"Why  should  I  paint  the  tempestuous  fluctuation  of 
my  thoughts  between  grief  and  revenge,  between  rage 
and  despair?  Why  should  I  repeat  my  vows  of  eternal 
implacability  and  persecution,  and  the  speedy  recantation 
of  these  vows  ? 

"  I  have  said  enough.  You  have  dismissed  me  from  a 
place  in  your  esteem.  What  I  think  and  what  I  feel  is 
of  no  importance  in  your  eyes.  May  the  duty  which  I 
owe  myself  enable  me  to  forget  your  existence !  In  a 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  155 

few  minutes  I  go  hence.  Be  the  maker  of  your  fortune ; 
and  may  adversity  instruct  you  in  that  wisdom  which 
education  was  unable  to  impart  to  you !" 

Those  were  the  last  words  which  Pleyel  uttered.  He 
left  the  room,  and  my  new  emotions  enabled  me  to  wit 
ness  his  departure  without  any  apparent  loss  of  compo 
sure.  As  I  sat  alone,  I  ruminated  on  these  incidents. 
Nothing  was  more  evident  than  that  I  had  taken  an 
eternal  leave  of  happiness.  Life  was  a  worthless  thing, 
separate  from  that  good  which  had  now  been  wrested 
from  me ;  yet  the  sentiment  that  now  possessed  me  had 
no  tendency  to  palsy  my  exertions  and  overbear  my 
strength.  I  noticed  that  the  light  was  declining,  and 
perceived  the  propriety  of  leaving  this  house.  I  placed 
myself  again  in  the  chaise,  and  returned  slowly  towards 
the  city. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

BEFORE  I  reached  the  city  it  was  dusk.  It  was  my 
purpose  to  spend  the  night  at  Mettingen.  I  was  not 
solicitous,  as  long  as  I  was  attended  by  a  faithful  ser 
vant,  to  be  there  at  an  early  hour.  My  exhausted 
strength  required  me  to  take  some  refreshment.  With 
this  view,  and  in  order  to  pay  respect  to  one  whose  affec 
tion  for  me  was  truly  maternal,  I  stopped  at  Mrs.  Bayn- 
ton's.  She  was  absent  from  home ;  but  I  had  scarcely 
entered  the  house,  when  one  of  her  domestics  presented 
me  a  letter.  I  opened,  and  read  as  follows : — 

To  CLARA  WIELAND. 

What  shall  I  say  to  extenuate  the  misconduct  of  last 
night  ?  It  is  my  duty  to  repair  it  to  the  utmost  of  my 
power ;  but  the  only  way  in  which  it  can  be  repaired 
you  will  not,  I  fear,  be  prevailed  on  to  adopt.  It  is  by 
granting  me  an  interview,  at  your  own  house,  at  eleven 
o'clock  this  night.  I  have  no  means  of  removing  any 
fears  that  you  may  entertain  of  my  designs,  but  my 
simple  and  solemn  declarations.  These,  after  what  has 
passed  between  us,  you  may  deem  unworthy  of  con 
fidence.  I  cannot  help  it.  My  folly  and  rashness  have 
left  me  no  other  resource.  I  will  be  at  your  door  by 
that  hour.  If  you  choose  to  admit  me  to  a  conference, 
provided  that  conference  has  no  witnesses,  I  will  disclose 
to  you  particulars  the  knowledge  of  which  is  of  the 
utmost  importance  to  your  happiness.  Farewell. 

CARWIN. 

What  a  letter  was  this !    A  man  known  to  be  an  assassin 
and  robber,  one  capable  of  plotting  against  my  life  and 
156 


THE   TRANSFORMATION.  157 

my  fame,  detected  lurking  in  my  chamber  and  avowing 
designs  the  most  flagitious  and  dreadful,  now  solicits 
me  to  grant  him  a  midnight  interview ! — to  admit  him 
alone  into  my  presence !  Could  he  make  this  request 
with  the  expectation  of  my  compliance?  What  had  he 
seen  in  me  that  could  justify  him  in  admitting  so  wild  a 
belief?  Yet  this  request  is  preferred  with  the  utmost 
gravity.  It  is  not  accompanied  by  an  appearance  of 
uncommon  earnestness.  Had  the  misconduct  to  which 
he  alludes  been  a  slight  incivility,  and  the  interview  re 
quested  to  take  place  in  the  midst  of  my  friends,  there 
would  have  been  no  extravagance  in  the  tenor  of  this 
letter ;  but,  as  it  was,  the  writer  had  surely  been  bereft 
of  his  reason. 

I  perused  this  epistle  frequently.  The  request  it  con 
tained  might  be  called  audacious  or  stupid,  if  it  had  been 
made  by  a  different  person ;  but  from  Car  win,  who  could 
not  be  unaware  of  the  effect  which  it  must  naturally  pro 
duce,  and  of  the  manner  in  which  it  would  unavoidably 
be  treated,  it  was  perfectly  inexplicable.  He  must  have 
counted  on  the  success  of  some  plot,  in  order  to  extort 
my  assent.  None  of  those  motives  by  which  I  am  usually 
governed  would  ever  have  persuaded  me  to  meet  any  one 
of  his  sex  at  the  time  and  place  which  he  had  prescribed. 
Much  less  would  I  consent  to  a  meeting  with  a  man 
tainted  with  the  most  detestable  crimes,  and  by  whose 
arts  my  own  safety  had  been  so  imminently  endangered 
and  my  happiness  irretrievably  destroyed.  I  shuddered 
at  the  idea  that  such  a  meeting  was  possible.  I  felt  some 
reluctance  to  approach  a  spot  which  he  still  visited  and 
haunted. 

Such  were  the  ideas  which  first  suggested  themselves 
on  the  perusal  of  the  letter.  Meanwhile,  I  resumed  my 
journey.  My  thoughts  still  dwelt  upon  the  same  topic. 
Gradually,  from  ruminating  on  this  epistle,  I  reverted 
to  my  interview  with  Pleyel.  I  recalled  the  particulars 
of  the  dialogue  to  which  he  had  been  an  auditor.  My 
heart  sunk  anew  on  viewing  the  inextricable  complexity  of 
this  deception,  and  the  inauspicious  concurrence  of  events 
which  tended  to  confirm  him  in  his  error.  When  he  ap 
proached  my  chamber  door,  my  terror  kept  me  mute.  He 


158  WIELAND;    OR, 

put  his  ear,  perhaps,  to  the  crevice,  but  it  caught  the 
sound  of  nothing  human.  Had  I  called,  or  made  any 
token  that  denoted  some  one  to  be  within,  words  would 
have  ensued;  and,  as  omnipresence  was  impossible,  this 
discovery,  and  the  artless  narrative  of  what  had  just 
passed,  would  have  saved  me  from  his  murderous  invec 
tives.  He  went  into  his  chamber,  and,  after  some  interval, 
I  stole  across  the  entry  and  down  the  stairs  with  inaudible 
steps.  Having  secured  the  outer  doors,  I  returned  with 
less  circumspection.  He  heard  me  not  when  I  descended ; 
but  my  returning  steps  were  easily  distinguished.  Now, 
he  thought,  was  the  guilty  interview  at  an  end.  In  what 
other  way  was  it  possible  for  him  to*  construe  these  signals  ? 

How  fallacious  and  precipitate  was  my  decision !  Car-  I 
'win's  plot  owed  its  success  to  a  coincidence  of  events  : 
scarcely  credible.  The  balance  was  swayed  from  its 
equipoise  by  a  hair.  Had  I  even  begun  the  conversation 
with  an  account  of  what  befell  me  in  my  chamber,  my 
previous  interview  with  Wieland  would  have  taught  him 
to  suspect  me  of  imposture;  yet,  if  I  were  discoursing 
with  this  ruffian  when  Pleycl  touched  the  lock  of  my 
chamber  door,  and  when  he  shut  his  own  door  with  so 
much  violence,  how,  he  might  ask,  should  I  be  able  to 
relate  these  incidents?  Perhaps  he  had  withheld  the 
knowledge  of  these  circumstances  from  my  brother,  from 
whom,  therefore,  I  could  not  obtain  it,  so  that  my  inno 
cence  would  have  thus  been  irresistibly  demonstrated. 

The  first  impulse  which  flowed  from  these  ideas  was  to 
return  upon  my  steps  and  demand  once  more  an  inter 
view.  But  he  was  gone;  his  parting  declarations  were 
remembered. 

"Pleyel,"  I  exclaimed,  "thou  art  gone  forever!  Are 
thy  mistakes  beyond  the  reach  of  detection?  Am  I 
helpless  in  the  midst  of  this  snare  ?  The  plotter  is  at 
hand.  He  even  speaks  in  the  style  of  penitence.  He 
solicits  an  interview  which  he  promises  shall  end  in  the 
disclosure  of  something  momentous  to  my  happiness. 
What  can  he  say  which  will  avail  to  turn  aside  this  evil  ? 
But  why  should  his  remorse  be  feigned?  I  have  done 
him  no  injury.  His  wickedness  is  fertile  only  of  despair ; 
and  the  billows  of  remorse  will  some  time  overbear  him. 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  159 

Why  may  not  this  event  have  already  taken  place? 
Why  should  I  refuse  to  see  him?" 

This  idea  was  present,  as  it  were,  for  a  moment.  I 
suddenly  recoiled  from  it,  confounded  at  that  frenzy  which 
could  give  even  momentary  harbour  to  such  a  scheme ; 
yet  presently  it  returned.  At  length  I  even  conceived 
it  to  deserve  deliberation.  I  questioned  whether  it  was 
not  proper  to  admit,  at  a  lonely  spot,  in  a  sacred  hour, 
this  man  of  tremendous  and  inscrutable  attributes,  this 
performer  of  horrid  deeds,  and  whose  presence  was  pre 
dicted  to  call  down  unheard-of  and  unutterable  horrors. 

What  was  it  that  swayed  me  ?  I  felt  myself  divested 
of  the  power  to  will  contrary  to  the  motives  that  de- 
i  termined  me  to  seek  his  presence.  My  mind  seemed  to 
;  be  split  into  separate  parts,  and  these  parts  to  have 
entered  into  furious  and  implacable  contention.  These 
tumults  gradually  subsided.  The  reasons  why  I  should 
confide  in  that  interposition  which  had  hitherto  defended 
me,  in  those  tokens  of  compunction  which  this  letter 
contained,  in  the  efficacy  of  this  interview  to  restore  its 
spotlessness  to  my  character  and  banish  all  illusions  from 
the  mind  of  my  friend,  continually  acquired  new  evi 
dence  and  now  strength. 

What  should  I  fear  in  his  presence  ?  This  vwas  unlike 
an  artifice  intended  to  betray  me  into  his  hands.  If  it 
were  an  artifice,  what  purpose  would  it  serve?  The 
freedom  of  my  mind  was  untouched,  and  that  freedom 
would  defy  the  assaults  of  blandishments  or  magic. 
Force  I  was  not  able  to  repel.  On  the  former  occasion 
my  courage,  it  is  true,  had  failed  at  the  imminent  approach 
of  danger;  but  then  I  had  not  enjoyed  opportunities  of 
deliberation ;  I  had  foreseen  nothing ;  I  was  sunk  into 
imbecility  by  my  previous  thoughts;  I  had  been  the 
victim  of  recent  disappointments  and  anticipated  ills. 
Witness  my  infatuation  in  opening  the  closet  in  oppo 
sition  to  divine  injunctions. 

Now,  perhaps,  my  courage  was  the  offspring  of  a  no 
less  erring  principle.  Pleyel  was  forever  lost  to  me. 
I  strove  in  vain  to  assume  his  person  and  suppress  my 
resentment ;  I  strove  in  vain  to  believe  in  the  assuaging 
influence  of  time,  to  look  forward  to  the  birthday  of 


160  WIELAND;    OR, 

new  hopes,  and  the  re-exaltation  of  that  luminary  of 
whose  effulgencies  I  had  so  long  and  so  liberally  partaken. 

What  had  I  to  suffer  worse  than  was  already  inflicted  ? 

Was  not  Carwin  my  foe  ?  I  owed  my  untimely  fate 
to  his  treason.  Instead  of  flying  from  his  presence, 
ought  I  not  to  devote  all  my  faculties  to  the  gaining  of 
an  interview,  and  compel  him  to  repair  the  ills  of  which 
he  has  been  the  author?  Why  should  I  suppose  him 
impregnable  to  argument?  Have  I  not  reason  on  my 
side,  and  the  power  of  imparting  conviction?  Cannot 
he  be  made  to  see  the  justice  of  unravelling  the  maze  in 
which  Pleyel  is  bewildered  ? 

He  may,  at  least,  be  accessible  to  fear.  Has  he 
nothing  to  fear  from  the  rage  of  an  injured  woman? 
But  suppose  him  inaccessible  to  such  inducements;  sup 
pose  him  to  persist  in  all  his  flagitious  purposes :  are  not 
the  means  of  defence  and  resistance  in  my  power  ? 

In  the  progress  of  such  thoughts  was  the  resolution  at 
last  formed.  I  hoped  that  the  interview  was  sought  by 
him  for  a  laudable  end ;  but,  be  that  as  it  would,  I  trusted 
that,  by  energy  of  reasoning  or  of  action,  I  should  render 
it  auspicious,  or  at  least  harmless. 

Such  a  determination  must  unavoidably  fluctuate. 
The  poet's  chaos  was  no  unapt  emblem  of  the  state  of  my 
mind.  A  torment  was  awakened  in  my  bosom,  which  I 
foresaw  would  end  only  when  this  interview  was  past 
and  its  consequences  fully  experienced.  Hence  my  im 
patience  for  the  arrival  of  the  hour  which  had  been  pre 
scribed  by  Carwin. 

Meanwhile,  my  meditations  were  tumultuously  active. 
New  impediments  to  the  execution  of  the  scheme  were 
speedily  suggested.  I  had  apprized  Catharine  of  my 
intention  to  spend  this  and  many  future  nights  with  her. 
Her  husband  was  informed  of  this  arrangement,  and 
had  zealously  approved  it.  Eleven  o'clock  exceeded 
their  hour  of  retiring.  What  excuse  should  I  form  for 
changing  my  plan  ?  Should  I  show  this  letter  to  Wie- 
land  and  submit  myself  to  his  direction  ?  But  I  knew 
in  what  way  he  would  decide.  He  would  fervently  dis 
suade  me  from  going.  Nay,  would  he  not  do  more? 
He  was  apprized  of  the  offences  of  Carwin,  and  of  the 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  l6l 

reward  offered  for  his  apprehension.  "Would  he  not  seize 
this  opportunity  of  executing  justice  on  a  criminal  ? 

This  idea  was  new.  I  was  plunged  once  more  into 
doubt.  Did  not  equity  enjoin  me  thus  to  facilitate  his 
arrest  ?  No.  I  disdained  the  office  of  betrayer.  Carwin 
was  unapprized  of  his  danger,  and  his  intentions  were 
possibly  beneficent.  Should  I  station  guards  about  the 
house,  and  make  an  act  intended  perhaps  for  my  benefit 
instrumental  to  his  own  destruction?  Wieland  might 
be  justified  in  thus  employing  the  knowledge  which 
I  should  impart ;  but  I,  by  imparting  it,  should  pollute 
myself  with  more  hateful  crimes  than  those  undeservedly 
imputed  to  me.  This  scheme,  therefore,  I  unhesitatingly 
rejected.  The  views  with  which  I  should  return  to  my 
own  house  it  would  therefore  be  necessary  to  conceal. 
Yet  some  pretext  must  be  invented.  I  had  never  been 
initiated  into  the  trade  of  lying.  Yet  what  but  false 
hood  was  a  deliberate  suppression  of  the  truth  ?  To 
deceive  by  silence  or  by  words  is  the  same. 

Yet  what  would  a  lie  avail  me  ?  What  pretext  would 
justify  this  change  in  my  plan  ?  Would  it  not  tend  to 
confirm  the  imputations  of  Pleyel?  That  I  should 
voluntarily  return  to  a  house  in  which  honour  and  life 
had  so  lately  been  endangered  could  be  explained  in  no 
way  favourable  to  my  integrity. 

These  reflections,  if  they  did  not  change,  at  least  sus 
pended,  my  decision.  In  this  state  of  uncertainty  I 
alighted  at  the  hut.  We  gave  this  name  to  the  house 
tenanted  by  the  farmer  and  his  servants,  and  which  was 
situated  on  the  verge  of  my  brother's  ground,  and  at  a 
considerable  distance  from  the  mansion.  The  path  to 
the  mansion  was  planted  by  a  double  row  of  walnuts. 
Along  this  path  I  proceeded  alone.  I  entered  the  par 
lour,  in  which  was  a  light  just  expiring  in  the  socket. 
There  was  no  one  in  the  room.  I  perceived  by  the  clock 
that  stood  against  the  wall  that  it  was  near  eleven.  The 
lateness  of  the  hour  startled  me.  What  had  become  of 
the  family  ?  They  were  usually  retired  an  hour  before 
this  ;  but  the  unextinguished  taper  and  the  unbarred 
door  were  indications  that  they  had  not  retired.  I 
11 


1 62  WIELAND;    OR, 

again  returned  to  the  hall,  and  passed  from  one  room  to 
another,  but  still  encountered  not  a  human  being. 

I  imagined  that  perhaps  the  lapse  of  a  few  minutes 
would  explain  these  appearances.  Meanwhile,  I  re 
flected  that  the  preconcerted  hour  had  arrived.  Carwin 
was  perhaps  waiting  my  approach.  Should  I  imme 
diately  retire  to  my  own  house,  no  one  would  be  ap 
prized  of  my  proceeding.  Nay,  the  interview  might 
pass,  and  I  be  enabled  to  return  in  half  an  hour. 
Hence  no  necessity  would  arise  for  dissimulation. 

I  was  so  far  influenced  by  these  views  that  I  rose  to 
execute  this  design;  but  again  the  unusual  condition  of 
the  house  occurred  to  me,  and  some  vague  solicitude  as 
to  the  condition  of  the  family.  I  was  nearly  certain 
that  my  brother  had  not  retired ;  but  by  what  motives 
he  could  be  induced  to  desert  his  house  thus  unseasonably 
I  could  by  no  means  divine.  Louisa  Conway,  at  least, 
was  at  home,  and  had  probably  retired  to  her  chamber : 
perhaps  she  was  able  to  impart  the  information  I  wanted. 

I  went  to  her  chamber,  and  found  her  asleep.  She 
was  delighted  and  surprised  at  my  arrival,  and  told  me 
with  how  much  impatience  and  anxiety  my  brother  and 
his  wife  had  awaited  my  coming.  They  were  fearful 
that  some  mishap  had  befallen  me,  and  had  remained  up 
longer  than  the  usual  period.  Notwithstanding  the  late 
ness  of  the  hour,  Catharine  would  not  resign  the  hope 
of  seeing  me.  Louisa  said  she  had  left  them  both  in 
the  parlour,  and  she  knew  of  no  cause  for  their  absence. 

As  yet  I  was  not  without  solicitude  on  account  of  their 
personal  safety.  I  was  far  from  being  perfectly  at  ease 
on  that  head,  but  entertained  no  distinct  conception  of 
the  danger  that  impended  over  them.  Perhaps,  to  be 
guile  the  moments  of  my  long-protracted  stay,  they  had 
gone  to  walk  upon  the  bank.  The  atmosphere,  though 
illuminated  only  by  the  starlight,  was  remarkably  serene. 
Meanwhile,  the  desirableness  of  an  interview  with  Car- 
win  again  returned,  and  I  finally  resolved  to  seek  it. 

I  passed  with  doubting  and  hasty  steps  along  the 
path.  My  dwelling,  seen  at  a  distance,  was  gloomy  and 
desolate.  It  had  no  inhabitant ;  for  my  servant,  in  con- 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  163 

sequence  of  niy  new  arrangement,  had  gone  to  Mettin- 
gen.  The  temerity  of  this  attempt  began  to  show 
itself  in  more  vivid  colours  to  my  understanding.  Who 
ever  has  pointed  steel  is  not  without  arms;  yet  what 
must  have  been  the  state  of  my  mind  when  I  could  medi 
tate,  without  shuddering,  on  the  use  of  a  murderous 
weapon,  and  believe  myself  secure  merely  because  I  was 
capable  of  being  made  so  by  the  death  of  another  !  Yet 
this  was  not  my  state.  I  felt  as  if  I  was  rushing  into 
deadly  toils  without  the  power  of  pausing  or  receding. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

As  soon  as  I  arrived  in  sight  of  the  front  of  the 
house,  my  attention  was  excited  by  a  light  from  the 
window  of  my  own  chamber.  No  appearance  could  be 
less  explicable.  A  meeting  was  expected  with  Carwin  ; 
but  that  he  preoccupied  my  chamber,  and  had  supplied 
himself  with  light,  was  not  to  be  believed.  What  motive 
could  influence  him  to  adopt  this  conduct  ?  Could  I 
proceed  until  this  was  explained  ?  Perhaps,  if  I  should 
proceed  to  a  distance  in  front,  some  one  would  be  visible. 
A  sidelong  but  feeble  beam  from  the  window  fell  upon 
the  piny  copse  which  skirted  the  bank.  As  I  eyed  it,  it 
suddenly  became  mutable,  and,  after  flitting  to  and  fro 
for  a  short  time,  it  vanished.  I  turned  my  eye  again 
towards  the  window,  and  perceived  that  the  light  was 
still  there ;  but  the  change  which  I  had  noticed  was 
occasioned  by  a  change  in  the  position  of  the  lamp  or 
candle  within.  Hence,  that  some  person  was  there  was 
an  unavoidable  inference. 

I  paused  to  deliberate  on  the  propriety  of  advancing. 
Might  I  not  advance  cautiously,  and,  therefore,  without 
danger  ?  Might  I  not  knock  at  the  door,  or  call,  and 
be  apprized  of  the  nature  of  my  visitant  before  I  en 
tered  ?  I  approached  and  listened  at  the  door,  but  could 
hear  nothing.  I  knocked  at  first  timidly,  but  afterwards 
with  loudness.  My  signals  were  unnoticed.  I  stepped 
back  and  looked,  but  the  light  was  no  longer  discernible. 
Was  it  suddenly  extinguished  by  a  human  agent  ?  What 
purpose  but  concealment  was  intended?  Why  was  the 
illumination  produced,  to  be  thus  suddenly  brought  to  an 
end  ?  And  why,  since  some  one  was  there,  had  silence 
been  observed? 

These  were  questions  the  solution  of  which  may  be 
164 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  165 

readily  supposed  to  be  entangled  with  danger.  Would 
not  this  danger,  when  measured  by  a  woman's  fears, 
expand  into  gigantic  dimensions  ?  Menaces  of  death ; 
the  stunning  exertions  of  a  warning  voice ;  the  known 
and  unknown  attributes  of  Carwin ;  our  recent  interview 
in  this  chamber ;  the  preappointment  of  a  meeting  at 
this  place  and  hour, — all  thronged  into  my  memory. 
What  was  to  be  done  ? 

Courage  is  no  definite  or  steadfast  principle.  Let 
that  man  who  shall  purpose  to  assign  motives  to  the 
actions  of  another  blush  at  his  folly  and  forbear.  Not 
more  presumptuous  would  it  be  to  attempt  the  classifica 
tion  of  all  nature  and  the  scanning  of  Supreme  intelli 
gence.  I  gazed  for  a  minute  at  the  window,  and  fixed 
my  eyes,  for  a  second  minute,  on  the  ground.  I  drew 
forth  from  my  pocket,  and  opened,  a  penknife.  "This," 
said  I,  "be  my  safeguard  and  avenger.  The  assailant 
shall  perish,  or  myself  shall  fall." 

I  had  locked  up  the  house  in  the  morning,  but  had  the 
key  of  the  kitchen  door  in  my  pocket.  I  therefore  de 
termined  to  gain  access  behind.  Thither  I  hastened, 
unlocked,  and  entered.  All  was  lonely,  darksome,  and 
waste.  Familiar  as  I  was  with  every  part  of  my  dwell 
ing,  I  easily  found  my  way  to  a  closet,  drew  forth  a 
taper,  a  flint,  tinder,  and  steel,  and  in  a  moment,  as  it 
were,  gave  myself  the  guidance  and  protection  of  light. 

What  purpose  did  I  meditate  ?  Should  I  explore  my 
way  to  my  chamber,  and  confront  the  being  who  had 
dared  to  intrude  into  this  recess  and  had  laboured  for 
concealment  ?  By  putting  out  the  light  did  he  seek  to 
hide  himself,  or  mean  only  to  circumvent  my  incautious 
steps  ?  Yet  was  it  not  more  probable  that  he  desired 
my  absence  by  thus  encouraging  the  supposition  that  the 
house  was  unoccupied?  I  would  see  this  man  in  spite 
of  all  impediments  ;  ere  I  died,  I  would  see  his  face,  and 
summon  him  to  penitence  and  retribution ;  no  matter  at 
what  cost  an  interview  was  purchased.  Reputation  and 
life  might  be  wrested  from  me  by  another,  but  my  rec 
titude  and  honour  were  in  my  own  keeping,  and  were 
safe. 

I  proceeded  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs.    At  such  a  crisis 


1 66  WIELAND;    OR, 

my  thoughts  may  be  supposed  at  no  liberty  to  range ; 
yet  vague  images  rushed  into  my  mind  of  the  mysterious 
interposition  which  had  been  experienced  on  the  last 
night.  My  case  at  present  was  not  dissimilar ;  and,  if 
my  angel  were  not  weary  of  fruitless  exertions  to  save, 
might  not  a  new  warning  be  expected  ?  Who  could  say 
whether  his  silence  were  ascribable  to  the  absence  of 
danger,  or  to  his  own  absence  ? 

In  this  state  of  mind,  no  wonder  that  a  shivering  cold 
crept  through  my  veins ;  that  my  pause  was  prolonged ; 
and  that  a  fearful  glance  was  thrown  backward. 

Alas  !  my  heart  droops,  and  my  fingers  are  enervated ; 
my  ideas  are  vivid,  but  my  language  is  faint :  now  know 
I  what  it  is  to  entertain  incommunicable  sentiments. 
The  chain  of  subsequent  incidents  is  drawn  through  my 
mind,  and,  being  linked  with  those  which  forewent,  by 
turns  rouse  up  agonies  and  sink  me  into  hopelessness. 

Yet  I  will  persist  to  the  end.  My  narrative  may  be 
invaded  by  inaccuracy  and  confusion ;  but,  if  I  live  no 
longer,  I  will,  at  least,  live  to  complete  it.  What  but 
ambiguities,  abruptnesses,  and  dark  transitions,  can  be 
expected  from  the  historian  who  is,  at  the  same  time,  the 
sufferer  of  these  disasters  ? 

I  have  said  that  I  cast  a  look  behind.  Some  object 
was  expected  to  be  seen,  or  why  should  I  have  gazed  in 
that  direction  ?  Two  senses  were  at  once  assailed.  The 
same  piercing  exclamation  of  "Hold!  hold!"  was  uttered 
within  the  same  distance  of  my  ear.  This  it  was  that  I 
heard.  The  airy  undulation,  and  the  shock  given  to  my 
nerves,  were  real.  Whether  the  spectacle  which  I  be 
held  existed  in  my  fancy  or  without  might  be  doubted. 

I  had  not  closed  the  door  of  the  apartment  I  had  just 
left.  The  staircase,  at  the  foot  of  which  I  stood,  was 
eight  or  ten  feet  from  the  door,  and  attached  to  the  wall 
through  which  the  door  led.  My  view,  therefore,  was 
sidelong,  and  took  in  no  part  of  the  room. 

Through  this  aperture  was  a  head  thrust  and  drawn 
back  with  so  much  swiftness  that  the  immediate  convic 
tion  was,  that  thus  much  of  a  form  ordinarily  invisible 
had  been  unshrouded.  The  face  was  turned  towards  me. 
Every  muscle  was  tense ;  the  forehead  and  brows  were 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  l6/ 

drawn  into  vehement  expression  ;  the  lips  were  stretched 
as  in  the  act  of  shrieking,  and  the  eyes  emitted  sparks, 
which,  no  doubt,  if  I  had  been  unattended  by  a  light, 
would  have  illuminated  like  the  coruscations  of  a  meteor. 
The  sound  and  the  vision  were  present,  and  departed  to 
gether  at  the  same  instant ;  but  the  cry  was  blown  into 
my  ear,  while  the  face  was  many  paces  distant. 

This  face  was  well  suited  to  a  being  whose  perform 
ances  exceeded  the  standard  of  humanity;  and  yet  its 
features  were  akin  to  those  I  had  before  seen.  The 
image  of  Carwin  was  blended  in  a  thousand  ways  with 
the  stream  of  my  thoughts.  This  visage  was,  perhaps, 
portrayed  by  my  fancy.  If  so,  it  will  excite  no  surprise 
that  some  of  his  lineaments  were  now  discovered.  Yet 
affinities  were  few  and  unconspicuous,  and  were  lost 
amidst  the  blaze  of  opposite  qualities. 

What  conclusion  could  I  form  ?  Be  the  face  human 
or  not,  the  intimation  was  imparted  from  above.  Expe 
rience  had  evinced  the  benignity  of  that  being  who  gave 
it.  Once  he  had  interposed  to  shield  me  from  harm, 
and  subsequent  events  demonstrated  the  usefulness  of 
that  interposition.  Now  was  I  again  warned  to  forbear. 
I  was  hurrying  to  the  verge  of  the  same  gulf,  and  the 
same  power  was  exerted  to  recall  my  steps.  Was  it 
possible  for  me  not  to  obey  ?  "Was  I  capable  of  holding 
on  in  the  same  perilous  career  ?  Yes.  Even  of  this  I 
was  capable ! 

The  intimation  was  imperfect ;  it  gave  no  form  to  my 
danger  and  prescribed  no  limits  to  my  caution.  I  had 
formerly  neglected  it,  and  yet  escaped.  Might  I  not 
trust  to  the  same  issue?  This  idea  might  possess, 
though  imperceptibly,  some  influence.  I  persisted ;  but 
it  was  not  merely  on  this  account.  I  cannot  delineate 
the  motives  that  led  me  on.  I  now  speak  as  if  no  rem 
nant  of  doubt  existed  in  my  mind  as  to  the  supernatural 
origin  of  these  sounds;  but  this  is  rowing  to  the  imper 
fection  of  my  language^'  for  I  only  mean  that  the  belief 
was  more  permanent  and  visited  more  frequently  my 
sober  meditations  than  its  opposite.  The  immediate 
effects  served  only  to  undermine  the  foundations  of  my 
judgment  and  precipitate  my  resolutions. 


1 68  WIELAND;    OR, 

I  must  either  advance  or  return.  I  chose  the  former, 
and  began  to  ascend  the  stairs.  The  silence  underwent 
no  second  interruption.  My  chamber  door  was  closed, 
but  unlocked,  and,  aided  by  vehement  efforts  of  my 
courage,  I  opened  and  looked  in. 

No  hideous  or  uncommon  object  was  discernible.  The 
danger,  indeed,  might  easily  have  lurked  out  of  sight, 
have  sprung  upon  me  as  I  entered,  and  have  rent  me 
with  his  iron  talons ;  but  I  was  blind  to  this  fate,  and 
advanced,  though  cautiously,  into  the  room. 

Still,  every  thing  wore  its  accustomed  aspect.  Neither 
lamp  nor  candle  was  to  be  found.  Now,  for  the  first 
time,  suspicions  were  suggested  as  to  the  nature  of  the 
light  which  I  had  seen.  Was  it  possible  to  have  been 
the  companion  of  that  supernatural  visage  ;  a  meteorous 
refulgence  producible  at  the  will  of  him  to  whom  that 
visage  belonged,  and  partaking  of  the  nature  of  that 
which  accompanied  my  father's  death  ? 

The  closet  was  near,  and  I  remembered  the  compli 
cated  horrors  of  which  it  had  been  productive.  Here, 
perhaps,  was  enclosed  the  source  of  my  peril  and  the 
gratification  of  my  curiosity.  Should  I  adventure  once 
more  to  explore  its  recesses  ?  This  was  a  resolution 
not  easily  formed.  I  was  suspended  in  thought,  when, 
glancing  my  eye  on  a  table,  I  perceived  a  written  paper. 
Carwin's  hand  was  instantly  recognised,  and,  snatching 
up  the  paper,  I  read  as  follows : — 

"There  was  folly  in  expecting  your  compliance  with 
my  invitation.  Judge  how  I  was  disappointed  in  find 
ing  another  in  your  place.  I  have  waited,  but  to  wait 
any  longer  would  be  perilous.  I  shall  still  seek  an  inter 
view,  but  it  must  be  at  a  different  time  and  place ;  mean 
while,  I  will  write  this — How  will  you  bear — how  inex 
plicable  will  be  this  transaction ! — An  event  so  unex 
pected, — a  sight  so  horrible  !" 

Such  was  this  abrupt  and  unsatisfactory  script.  The 
ink  was  yet  moist ;  the  hand  was  that  of  Carwin.  Hence 
it  was  to  be  inferred  that  he  had  this  moment  left  the 
apartment,  or  was  still  in  it.  I  looked  back,  on  the 
sudden  expectation  of  seeing  him  behind  me. 

What  other  did  he   mean?     What   transaction  had 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  169 

taken  place  adverse  to  my  expectations  ?  What  sight 
was  about  to  be  exhibited  ?  I  looked  around  me  once 
more,  but  saw  nothing  which  indicated  strangeness. 
Again  I  remembered  the  closet,  and  was  resolved  to 
seek  in  that  the  solution  of  these  mysteries.  Here,  per 
haps,  was  enclosed  the  scene  destined  to  awaken  my 
horrors  and  baffle  my  foresight. 

I  have  already  said  that  the  entrance  into  this  closet 
was  beside  my  bed,  which,  on  two  sides,  was  closely 
shrouded  by  curtains.  On  that  side  nearest  the  closet 
the  curtain  was  raised.  As  I  passed  along  I  cast  my  eye 
thither.  I  started,  and  looked  again.  I  bore  a  light  in 
my  hand,  and  brought  it  nearer  my  eyes,  in  order  to 
dispel  any  illusive  mists  that  might  have  hovered  before 
them.  Once  more  I  fixed  my  eyes  upon  the  bed,  in 
hope  that  this  more  steadfast  scrutiny  would  annihilate 
the  object  which  before  seemed  to  be  there. 

This,  then,  was  the  sight  which  Carwin  had  predicted ! 
This  was  the  event  which  my  understanding  was  to  find 
inexplicable !  This  was  the  fate  which  had  been  re 
served  for  me,  but  which,  by  some  untoward  chance, 
had  befallen  another ! 

I  had  not  been  terrified  by  empty  menaces.  Viola 
tion  and  death  awaited  my  entrance  into  this  chamber. 
Some  inscrutable  chance  had  led  her  hither  before  me, 
and  the  merciless  fangs  of  which  I  was  designed  to  be 
the  prey  had  mistaken  their  victim,  and  had  fixed  them 
selves  in  her  heart.  But  where  was  my  safety  ?  Was 
the  mischief  exhausted  or  flown?  The  steps  of  the 
assassin  had  just  been  here;  they  could  not  be  far  off; 
in  a  moment  he  would  rush  into  my  presence,  and  I 
should  perish  under  the  same  polluting  and  suffocating 
grasp ! 

My  frame  shook,  and  my  knees  were  unable  to  sup 
port  me.  I  gazed  alternately  at  the  closet  door  and  at 
the  door  of  my  room.  At  one  of  these  avenues  would 
enter  the  exterminator  of  my  honour  and  my  life.  I 
was  prepared  for  defence ;  but,  now  that  danger  was 
imminent,  my  means  of  defence  and  my  power  to  use 
them  were  gone.  I  was  not  qualified  by  education  and 
experience  to  encounter  perils  like  these ;  or  perhaps  I 


I/O  WIELAND. 

was  powerless  because  I  was  again  assaulted  by  surprise, 
and  had  not  fortified  my  mind  by  foresight  and  previous 
reflection  against  a  scene  like  this. 

Fears  for  my  own  safety  again  yielded  place  to  reflec 
tions  on  the  scene  before  me.  I  fixed  my  eyes  upon  her 
countenance.  My  sister's  well-known  and  beloved  fea 
tures  could  not  be  concealed  by  convulsion  or  lividness. 
What  direful  illusion  led  thee  hither  ?  Bereft  of  thee, 
what  hold  on  happiness  remains  to  thy  offspring  and  thy 
spouse?  To  lose  thee  by  a  common  fate  would  have 
been  sufficiently  hard ;  but  thus  suddenly  to  perish, — to 
become  the  prey  of  this  ghastly  death !  How  will  a 
spectacle  like  this  be  endured  by  Wielancl  ?  To  die  be 
neath  his  grasp  would  not  satisfy  thy  enemy.  This  was 
mercy  to  the  evils  which  he  previously  made  thee  suffer ! 
After  these  evils  death  was  a  boon  which  thou  besoughtest 
him  to  grant.  He  entertained  no  enmity  against  thee ; 
I  was  the  object  of  his  treason ;  but  by  some  tremendous 
mistake  his  fury  was  misplaced.  But  how  comest  thou 
hither  ?  and  where  wa  s  Wieland  in  thy  hour  of  distress  ? 

I  approached  the  corpse;  I  lifted  the  still  flexible 
hand,  and  kissed  the  lips  which  were  breathless.  Her 
flowing  drapery  was  discomposed.  I  restored  it  to  order, 
and,  seating  myself  on  the  bed,  again  fixed  steadfast 
eyes  upon  her  countenance.  I  cannot  distinctly  recol 
lect  the  ruminations  of  that  moment.  I  saw  confusedly, 
but  forcibly,  that  every  hope  was  extinguished  with  the 
life  of  Catharine.  All  happiness  and  dignity  must  hence 
forth  be  banished  from  the  house  and  name  of  Wieland ; 
all  that  remained  was  to  linger  out  in  agonies  a  short 
existence  and  leave  to  the  world  a  monument  of  blasted 
hopes  and  changeable  fortune.  Pleyel  was  already  lost 
to  me ;  yet,  while  Catharine  lived,  life  was  not  a  detest 
able  possession.  But  now,  severed  from  the  companion 
of  my  infancy,  the  partaker  of  all  my  thoughts,  my 
cares,  and  my  wishes,  I  was  like  one  set  afloat  upon  a 
stormy  sea  and  hanging  his  safety  upon  a  plank ;  night 
was  closing  upon  him,  and  an  unexpected  surge  had  torn 
him  from  his  hold  and  overwhelmed  him  forever. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

I  HAD  no  inclination  nor  power  to  move  from  this  spot. 
For  more  than  an  hour  my  faculties  and  limbs  seemed  to 
be  deprived  of  all  activity.  The  door  below  creaked  on 
its  hinges,  and  steps  ascended  the  stairs.  My  wandering 
and  confused  thoughts  were  instantly  recalled  by  these 
sounds,  and,  dropping  the  curtain  of  the  bed,  I  moved  to 
a  part  of  the  room  where  any  one  who  entered  should  be 
visible ;  such  are  the  vibrations  of  sentiment,  that,  not 
withstanding  the  seeming  fulfilment  of  my  fears  and  in 
crease  of  my  danger,  I  was  conscious,  on  this  occasion, 
to  no  turbulence  but  that  of  curiosity. 

At  length  he  entered  the  apartment,  and  I  recognised 
my  brother.  It  was  the  same  Wieland  whom  I  had  ever 
seen.  Yet  his  features  were  pervaded  by  a  new  expres 
sion.  I  supposed  him  unacquainted  with  the  fate  of  his 
wife,  and  his  appearance  confirmed  this  persuasion.  A 
brow  expanding  into  exultation  I  had  hitherto  never 
seen  in  him  ;  yet  such  a  brow  did  he  now  wear.  Not 
only  was  he  unapprized  of  the  disaster  that  had  hap 
pened,  but  some  joyous  occurrence  had  betided.  What 
a  reverse  was  preparing  to  annihilate  his  transitory  bliss ! 
No  husband  ever  doated  more  fondly,  for  no  wife  ever 
claimed  so  boundless  a  devotion.  I  was  not  uncertain  as 
to  the  effects  to  flow  from  the  discovery  of  her  fate.  I 
confided  not  at  all  in  the  efforts  of  his  reason  or  his 
piety.  There  were  few  evils  which  his  modes  of  think 
ing  would  not  disarm  of  their  sting  ;  but  here  all  opiates 
to  grief  and  all  compellers  of  patience  were  vain.  This 
spectacle  would  be  unavoidably  followed  by  the  outrages 
of  desperation  and  a  rushing  to  death. 

For  the  present,  I  neglected  to  ask  myself  what  mo- 

171 


1/2  WIELAND;    OR, 

live  brought  him  hither.  I  was  only  fearful  of  the  effects 
to  flow  from  the  sight  of  the  dead.  Yet  could  it  be  long 
concealed  from  him  ?  Sometime,  and  speedily,  he  would 
obtain  this  knowledge.  No  stratagems  could  considerably 
or  usefully  prolong  his  ignorance.  All  that  could  be 
Bought  was  to  take  away  the  abruptness  of  the  change, 
and  shut  out  the  confusion  of  despair  and  the  inroads  of 
madness ;  but  I  knew  my  brother,  and  knew  that  all  ex 
ertions  to  console  him  would  be  fruitless. 

What  could  I  say?  I  was  mute,  and  poured  forth 
those  tears  on  his  account  which  my  own  unhappiness 
had  been  unable  to  extort.  In  the  midst  of  my  tears,  I 
was  not  unobservant  of  his  motions.  These  were  of  a 
nature  to  rouse  some  other  sentiment  than  grief,  or,  at 
least,  to  mix  with  it  a  portion  of  astonishment. 

His  countenance  suddenly  became  troubled.  His 
hands  were  clasped  with  a  force  that  left  the  print  of  his 
nails  in  his  flesh.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  my  feet.  His 
brain  seemed  to  swell  beyond  its  continent.  He  did  not 
cease  to  breathe,  but  his  breath  was  stifled  into  groans. 
I  had  never  witnessed  the  hurricane  of  human  passions. 
My  element  had,  till  lately,  been  all  sunshine  and  calm. 
I  was  unconversant  with  the  altitudes  and  energies  of 
sentiment,  and  was  transfixed  with  inexplicable  horror 
by  the  symptoms  which  I  now  beheld. 

After  a  silence  and  a  conflict  which  I  could  not  inter 
pret,  he  lifted  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  in  broken  accents 
exclaimed,  "  This  is  too  much  !  any  victim  but  this,  and 
thy  will  be  done.  Have  I  not  sufficiently  attested  my 
faith  and  my  obedience  ?  She  that  is  gone,  they  that 
have  perished,  were  linked  with  my  soul  by  ties  which 
only  thy  command  would  have  broken ;  but  here  is 
sanctity  and  excellence  surpassing  human.  This  work 
manship  is  thine,  and  it  cannot  be  thy  will  to  heap  it 
into  ruins." 

Here,  suddenly  unclasping  his  hands,  he  struck  one  of 
them  against  his  forehead,  and  continued: — "Wretch! 
who  made  thee  quicksighted  in  the  councils  of  thy 
Maker  ?  Deliverance  from  mortal  fetters  is  awarded  to 
this  being,  and  thou  art  the  minister  of  this  decree." 

So  saying,  Wieland  advanced  towards  me.    His  words 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  173 

and  his  motions  were  without  meaning,  except  on  one 
supposition.  The  death  of  Catharine  was  already  known 
to  him,  and  that  knowledge,  as  might  have  been  sus 
pected,  had  destroyed  his  reason.  I  had  feared  nothing 
less ;  but,  now  that  I  beheld  the  extinction  of  a  mind 
the  most  luminous  and  penetrating  that  ever  dignified 
the  human  form,  my  sensations  were  fraught  with  new 
and  insupportable  anguish. 

I  had  not  time  to  reflect  in  what  way  my  own  safety 
would  be  effected  by  this  revolution,  or  what  I  had  to 
dread  from  the  wild  conceptions  of  a  madman.  He  ad 
vanced  towards  me.  Some  hollow  noises  were  wafted 
by  the  breeze.  Confused  clamours  were  succeeded  by 
many  feet  traversing  the  grass  and  then  crowding  into 
the  piazza. 

These  sounds  suspended  my  brother's  purpose,  and  he 
stood  to  listen.  The  signals  multiplied  and  grew  louder ; 
perceiving  this,  he  turned  from  me,  and  hurried  out  of 
my  sight.  All  about  me  was  pregnant  with  motives  to 
astonishment.  My  sister's  corpse,  Wieland's  frantic  de 
meanour,  and,  at  length,  this  crowd  of  visitants,  so  little 
accorded  with  my  foresight,  that  my  mental  progress 
was  stopped.  The  impulse  had  ceased  which  was  accus 
tomed  to  give  motion  and  order  to  my  thoughts. 

Footsteps  thronged  upon  the  stairs,  and  presently 
many  faces  showed  themselves  within  the  door  of  my 
apartment.  These  looks  were  full  of  alarm  and  watch 
fulness.  They  pried  into  corners  as  if  in  search  of 
some  fugitive ;  next  their  gaze  was  fixed  upon  me,  and 
betokened  all  the  vehemence  of  terror  and  pity.  For  a 
time  I  questioned  whether  these  were  not  shapes  and 
faces  like  that  which  I  had  seen  at  the  bottom  of  the 
stairs, — creatures  of  my  fancy  or  airy  existences. 

My  eye  wandered  from  one  to  another,  till  at  length 
it  fell  on  a  countenance  which  I  well  knew.  It  was  that 
of  Mr.  Hallet.  This  man  was  a  distant  kinsman  of  my 
mother,  venerable  for  his  age,  his  uprightness  and  sa 
gacity.  He  had  long  discharged  the  functions  of  a 
magistrate  and  good  citizen.  If  any  terrors  remained, 
his  presence  was  sufficient  to  dispel  them. 

He  approached,  took  my  hand  with  a  compassionate 


174  WIELAND;    OR, 

air,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "Where,  my  dear  Clara, 
are  your  brother  and  sister?"  I  made  no  answer,  but 
pointed  to  the  bed.  His  attendants  drew  aside  the  cur 
tain,  and,  while  their  eyes  glared  with  horror  at  the 
spectacle  which  they  beheld,  those  of  Mr.  Hallet  over 
flowed  with  tears. 

After  considerable  pause,  he  once  more  turned  to  me : 
— "  My  dear  girl,  this  sight  is  not  for  you.  Can  you 
confide  in  my  care  and  that  of  Mrs.  Baynton's  ?  We 
will  see  all  performed  that  circumstances  require." 

I  made  strenuous  opposition  to  this  request.  I  insisted 
on  remaining  near  her  till  she  was  interred.  His  re 
monstrances,  however,  and  my  own  feelings,  showed  me 
the  propriety  of  a  temporary  dereliction.  Louisa  stood 
in  need  of  a  comforter,  and  my  brother's  children  of  a 
nurse.  My  unhappy  brother  was  himself  an  object  of 
solicitude  and  care.  At  length  I  consented  to  relinquish 
the  corpse,  and  go  to  my  brother's,  whose  house,  I  said, 
would  need  a  mistress,  and  his  children  a  parent. 

During  this  discourse,  my  venerable  friend  struggled 
with  his  tears,  but  my  last  intimation  called  them  forth 
with  fresh  violence.  Meanwhile,  his  attendants  stood 
round  in  mournful  silence,  gazing  on  me  and  at  each 
other.  I  repeated  my  resolution,  and  rose  to  execute  it; 
but  he  took  my  hand  to  detain  me.  His  countenance 
betrayed  irresolution  and  reluctance.  I  requested  him 
to  state  the  reason  of  his  opposition  to  this  measure.  I 
entreated  him  to  be  explicit.  I  told  him  that  my  bro 
ther  had  just  been  there,  and  that  I  knew  his  condition. 
This  misfortune  had  driven  him  to  madness,  and  his  off 
spring  must  want  a  protector.  If  he  chose,  I  would 
resign  Wieland  to  his  care ;  but  his  innocent  and  help 
less  babes  stood  in  instant  need  of  nurse  and  mother, 
and  these  offices  I  would  by  no  means  allow  another  to 
perform  while  I  had  life. 

Every  word  that  I  uttered  seemed  to  augment  his  per 
plexity  and  distress.  At  last  he  said,  "  I  think,  Clara, 
I  have  entitled  myself  to  some  regard  from  you.  You 
have  professed  your  willingness  to  oblige  me.  Now  I 
call  upon  you  to  confer  upon  me  the  highest  obligation 
in  your  power.  Permit  Mrs.  Baynton  to  have  the  ma- 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  1/5 

nagement  of  your  brother's  house  for  two  or  three  days ; 
then  it  shall  be  yours  to  act  in  it  as  you  please.  No 
matter  what  are  my  motives  in  making  this  request ; 
perhaps  I  think  your  age,  your  sex,  or  the  distress  which 
this  disaster  must  occasion,  incapacitates  you  for  the 
office.  Surely  you  have  no  doubt  of  Mrs.  Baynton's 
tenderness  or  discretion." 

New  ideas  now  rushed  into  my  mind.  I  fixed  my  eyes 
steadfastly  on  Mr.  Hallet.  "Are  they  well?"  said  I. 
"Is  Louisa  well?  Are  Benjamin,  and  William,  and 
Constantino,  and  little  Clara,  are  they  safe  ?  Tell  me 
truly,  I  beseech  you !" 

"They  are  well,"  he  replied;  "they  are  perfectly 
safe." 

"  Fear  no  effeminate  weakness  in  me ;  I  can  bear  to 
hear  the  truth.  Tell  me  truly,  are  they  well  ?" 

He  again  assured  me  that  they  were  well. 

"  What,  then,"  resumed  I,  "  do  you  fear  ?  Is  it  pos 
sible  for  any  calamity  to  disqualify  me  for  performing 
my  duty  to  these  helpless  innocents  ?  I  am  willing  to 
divide  the  care  of  them  with  Mrs.  Baynton ;  I  shall  be 
grateful  for  her  sympathy  and  aid ;  but  what  should  I  be 
to  desert  them  at  an  hour  like  this  ?" 

I  will  cut  short  this  distressful  dialogue.  I  still  per 
sisted  in  my  purpose,  and  he  still  persisted  in  his  oppo 
sition.  This  excited  my  suspicions  anew;  but  these 
were  removed  by  solemn  declarations  of  their  safety.  I 
could  not  explain  this  conduct  in  my  friend,  but  at 
length  consented  to  go  to  the  city,  provided  I  should  see 
them  for  a  few  minutes  at  present,  and  should  return  on 
the  morrow. 

Even  this  arrangement  was  objected  to.  At  length  he 
told  me  they  were  removed  to  the  city.  Why  were  they 
removed,  I  asked,  and  whither  ?  My  importunities  would 
not  now  be  eluded.  My  suspicions  were  roused,  and  no 
evasion  or  artifice  was  sufficient  to  allay  them.  Many  of 
the  audience  began  to  give  vent  to  their  emotions  in 
tears.  Mr.  Hallet  himself  seemed  as  if  the  conflict 
were  too  hard  to  be  longer  sustained.  Something  whis 
pered  to  my  heart  that  havoc  had  been  wider  than  I  now 
witnessed.  I  suspected  this  concealment  to  arise  from 


1 76  WIELAND;    OR, 

apprehensions  of  the  effects  which  a  knowledge  of  the 
truth  would  produce  in  me.  I  once  more  entreated  him 
to  inform  me  truly  of  their  state.  To  enforce  my  en 
treaties,  I  put  on  an  air  of  insensibility.  "I  can  guess," 
said  I,  "what  has  happened:  they  are  indeed  beyond 
the  reach  of  injury,  for  they  are  dead  ?  Is  it  not  so  ?" 
My  voice  faltered  in  spite  of  my  courageous  efforts. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "they  are  dead!  Dead  by  the  same 
fate,  and  by  the  same  hand,  with  their  mother !" 
"Dead!"  replied  I;  "what!  all?" 
"All !"  replied  he  ;  "he  spared  not  one!" 
Allow  me,  my  friends,  to  close  my  eyes  upon  the  after- 
scene.  Why  should  I  protract  a  tale  which  I  already 
begin  to  feel  is  too  long  ?  Over  this  scene,  at  least,  let 
me  pass  lightly.  Here,  indeed,  my  narrative  would  Jbe 
imperfect.  All  was  tem^stitOTiS'-'CorrmTOtion  in  my  heart 
and  in  my  brain.  I  have  no  memory  for  aught  but  un 
conscious  transitions  and  rueful  sights.  I  was  ingenious 
and  indefatigable  in  the  invention  of  torments.  I  would 
not  dispense  with  any  spectacle  adapted  to  exasperate 
my  grief.  Each  pale  and  mangled  form  I  crushed  to  my 
bosom.  Louisa,  whom  I  loved  with  so  ineffable  a  pas 
sion,  was  denied  to  me  at  first,  but  my  obstinacy  con 
quered  their  reluctance. 

They  led  the  way  into  a  darkened  hall.  A  lamp 
pendant  from  the  ceiling  was  uncovered,  and  they 
pointed  to  a  table.  The  assassin  had  defrauded  me  of 
my  last  and  miserable  consolation.  I  sought  not  in  her 
visage  for  the  tinge  of  the  morning  and  the  lustre  of 
heaven.  These  had  vanished  with  life ;  but  I  hoped  for 
liberty  to  print  a  last  kiss  upon  her  lips.  This  was  de 
nied  me ;  for  such  had  been  the  merciless  blow  that 
destroyed  her,  that  not  a  lineament  remained! 

I  was  carried  hence  to  the  city.  Mrs.  Hallet  was  my 
companion  and  my  nurse.  Why  should  I  dwell  upon 
the  rage  of  fever  and  the  effusions  of  delirium  ?  Carwin 
was  the  phantom  that  pursued  my  dreams,  the  giant  op 
pressor  under  whose  arm  I  was  forever  on  the  point  of 
being  crushed.  Strenuous  muscles  were  required  to 
hinder  my  flight,  and  hearts  of  steel  to  withstand  the 
eloquence  of  my  fears.  In  vain  I  called  upon  them  to 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  I// 

look  upward,  to  mark  his  sparkling  rage  and  scowling 
contempt.  All  I  sought  was  to  fly  from  the  stroke  that 
was  lifted.  Then  I  heaped  upon  my  guards  the  most 
vehement  reproaches,  or  betook  myself  to  wailings  on 
the  helplessness  of  my  condition. 

This  malady  at  length  declined,  and  my  weeping 
friends  began  to  look  for  my  restoration.  Slowly,  and 
with  intermitted  beams,  memory  revisited  me.  The 
scenes  that  I  had  witnessed  were  revived,  became  the 
theme  of  deliberation  and  deduction,  and  called  forth  the 
effusions  of  more  rational  sorrow. 
12 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

I  HAD  imperfectly  recovered  my  strength,  when  I  was 
informed  of  the  arrival  of  my  mother's  brother,  Thomas 
Cambridge.  Ten  years  since,  he  went  to  Europe,  and 
was  a  surgeon  in  the  British  forces  in  Germany  during 
the  whole  of  the  late  war.  After  its  conclusion,  some 
connection  that  he  had  formed  with  an  Irish  officer  made 
him  retire  into  Ireland.  Intercourse  had  been  punctu 
ally  maintained  by  letters  with  his  sister's  children,  and 
hopes  were  given  that  he  would  shortly  return  to  his 
native  country  and  pass  his  old  age  in  our  society.  He 
was  now  in  an  evil  hour  arrived. 

I  desired  an  interview  with  him  for  numerous  and 
urgent  reasons.  With  the  first  returns  of  my  under 
standing  I  had  anxiously  sought  information  of  the  fate 
of  my  brother.  During  the  course  of  my  disease  I  had 
never  seen  him ;  and  vague  and  unsatisfactory  answers 
were  returned  to  all  my  inquiries.  I  had  vehemently 
interrogated  Mrs.  Hallet  and  her  husband,  and  solicited 
an  interview  with  this  unfortunate  man ;  but  they  mys 
teriously  insinuated  that  his  reason  was  still  unsettled, 
and  that  his  circumstances  rendered  an  interview  impos 
sible.  Their  reserve  on  the  particulars  of  this  destruc 
tion  and  the  author  of  it  was  equally  invincible. 

For  some  time,  finding  all  my  efforts  fruitless,  I  had 
desisted  from  direct  inquiries  and  solicitations,  deter 
mined,  as  soon  as  my  strength  was  sufficiently  renewed, 
to  pursue  other  means  of  dispelling  my  uncertainty.  In 
this  state  of  things,  my  uncle's  arrival  and  intention  to 
visit  me  were  announced.  I  almost  shuddered  to  behold 
the  face  of  this  man.  When  I  reflected  on  the  disasters 
that  had  befallen  us,  I  was  half  unwilling  to  witness  that 
178 


THE    TRANSFORMATION. 

dejection  and  grief  which  would  be  disclosed  in  his  coun 
tenance.  But  I  believed  that  all  transactions  had  been 
thoroughly  disclosed  to  him,  and  confided  in  my  impor 
tunity  to  extort  from  him  the  knowledge  that  I  sought. 

I  had  no  doubt  as  to  the  person  of  our  enemy ;  but 
the  motives  that  urged  him  to  perpetrate  these  horrors, 
the  means  that  he  used,  and  his  present  condition,  were 
totally  unknown.  It  was  reasonable  to  expect  some  in 
formation  on  this  head  from  my  uncle.  I  therefore 
waited  his  coming  with  impatience.  At  length,  in  the 
dusk  of  the  evening,  and  in  my  solitary  chamber,  this 
meeting  took  place. 

This  man  was  our  nearest  relation,  and  had  ever 
treated  us  with  the  affection  of  a  parent.  Our  meeting, 
therefore,  could  not  be  without  overflowing  tenderness 
and  gloomy  joy.  He  rather  encouraged  than  restrained 
the  tears  that  I  poured  out  in  his  arms,  and  took  upon 
himself  the  task  of  comforter.  Allusions  to  recent  dis 
asters  could  not  be  long  omitted.  One  topic  facilitated 
the  admission  of  another.  At  length  I  mentioned  and 
deplored  the  ignorance  in  which  I  had  been  kept  re 
specting  my  brother's  destiny  and  the  circumstances  of 
our  misfortunes.  I  entreated  him  to  tell  me  what  was 
Wieland's  condition,  and  what  progress  had  been  made 
in  detecting  or  punishing  the  author  of  this  unheard-of 
devastation. 

"  The  author  !"  said  he  ;  "  do  you  know  the  author  ?" 

"Alas  !"  I  answered,  "I  am  too  well  acquainted  with 
him.  The  story  of  the  grounds  of  my  suspicions  would 
be  painful  and  too  long.  I  am  not  apprized  of  the  ex 
tent  of  your  present  knowledge.  There  are  none  but 
Wieland,  Pleyel,  and  myself,  who  are  able  to  relate  cer 
tain  facts." 

"Spare  yourself  the  pain,"  said  he.  "All  that  Wie 
land  and  Pleyel  can  communicate  I  know  already.  If 
any  thing  of  moment  has  fallen  within  your  own  exclu 
sive  knowledge,  and  the  relation  be  not  too  arduous  for 
your  present  strength,  I  confess  I  am  desirous  of  hear 
ing  it.  Perhaps  you  allude  to  one  by  the  name  of  Car- 
win.  I  will  anticipate  your  curiosity  by  saying  that 


180  WIELAND;    OR, 

since  these  disasters  no  one  has  seen  or  heard  of  him. 
His  agency  is,  therefore,  a  mystery  still  unsolved." 

I  readily  complied  with  his  request,  and  related  as 
distinctly  as  I  could,  though  in  general  terms,  the  events 
transacted  in  the  summer-house  and  my  chamber.  He 
listened  without  apparent  surprise  to  the  tale  of  Pleyel's 
errors  and  suspicions,  and  with  augmented  seriousness 
to  my  narrative  of  the  warnings  and  inexplicable  vision, 
and  the  letter  found  upon  the  table.  I  waited  for  his 
comments. 

"You  gather  from  this,"  said  he,  "that  Carwin  is  the 
author  of  all  this  misery?" 

"Is  it  not,"  answered  I,  "an  unavoidable  inference? 
But  what  know  you  respecting  it  ?  Was  it  possible  to 
execute  this  mischief  without  witness  or  coadjutor  ?  I 
beseech  you  to  relate  to  me  when  and  why  Mr.  Hallet 
was  summoned  to  the  scene,  and  by  whom  this  disaster 
was  first  suspected  or  discovered.  Surely,  suspicion 
must  have  fallen  upon  some  one,  and  pursuit  was 
made." 

My  uncle  rose  from  his  seat,  and  traversed  the  floor 
with  hasty  steps.  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  ground, 
and  he  seemed  buried  in  perplexity.  At  length  he 
paused,  and  said,  with  an  emphatic  tone,  "It  is  true; 
the  instrument  is  known.  Carwin  may  have  plotted, 
but  the  execution  was  another's.  That  other  is  found, 
and  his  deed  is  ascertained." 

"  Good  heaven  !"  I  exclaimed  ;  "what  say  you?  Was 
not  Carwin  the  assassin  ?  Could  any  hand  but  his  have 
carried  into  act  this  dreadful  purpose  ?" 

"Have  I  not  said,"  returned  he,  "that  the  perform 
ance  was  another's  ?  Carwin,  perhaps,  or  heaven,  or 
insanity,  prompted  the  murderer;  but  Carwin  is  un 
known.  The  actual  performer  has  long  since  been 
called  to  judgment  and  convicted,  and  is,  at  this  mo 
ment,  at  the  bottom  of  a  dungeon  loaded  with  chains." 

I  lifted  my  hands  and  eyes.  "Who  then  is  this  as 
sassin  ?  By  what  means  and  whither  was  he  traced  ? 
What  is  the  testimony  of  his  guilt?" 

"His  own,  corroborated  with  that  of  a  servant-maid 
who  spied  the  murder  of  the  children  from  a  closet  where 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  l8l 

she  was  concealed.  The  magistrate  returned  from  your 
dwelling  to  your  brother's.  He  was  employed  in  hear 
ing  and  recording  the  testimony  of  the  only  witness, 
when  the  criminal  himself,  unexpected,  unsolicited,  un 
sought,  entered  the  hall,  acknowledged  his  guilt,  and 
rendered  himself  up  to  justice. 

"He  has  since  been  summoned  to  the  bar.  The 
audience  was  composed  of  thousands  whom  rumours  of 
this  wonderful  event  had  attracted  from  the  greatest 
distance.  A  long  and  impartial  examination  was  made, 
and  the  prisoner  was  called  upon  for  his  defence.  In 
compliance  with  this  call,  he  delivered  an  ample  relation 
of  his  motives  and  actions."  There  he  stopped. 

I  besought  him  to  say  who  this  criminal  was,  and 
what  the  instigations  that  compelled  him.  My  uncle 
was  silent.  I  urged  this  inquiry  with  new  force.  I  re 
verted  to  my  own  knowledge,  and  sought  in  this  some 
basis  to  conjecture.  I  ran  over  the  scanty  catalogue  of 
the  men  whom  I  knew ;  I  lighted  on  no  one  who  was 
qualified  for  ministering  to  malice  like  this.  Again  I 
resorted  to  importunity.  Had  I  ever  seen  the  criminal? 
Was  it  sheer  cruelty  or  diabolical  revenge  that  produced 
this  overthrow  ? 

He  surveyed  me  for  a  considerable  time,  and  listened 
to  my  interrogations  in  silence.  At  length  he  spoke : — 
"  Clara,  I  have  known  thee  by  report,  and  in  some  de 
gree  by  observation.  Thou  art  a  being  of  no  vulgar 
sort.  Thy  friends  have  hitherto  treated  thee  as  a  child. 
They  meant  well,  but  perhaps  they  were  unacquainted 
with  thy  strength.  I  assure  myself  that  nothing  will 
surpass  thy  fortitude. 

"Thou  art  anxious  to  know  the  destroyer  of  thy 
family,  his  actions,  and  his  motives.  Shall  I  call  him 
to  thy  presence,  and  permit  him  to  confess  before  thee  ? 
Shall  I  make  him  the  narrator  of  his  own  tale  ?" 

I  started  on  my  feet,  and  looked  round  me  with  fear 
ful  glances,  as  if  the  murderer  was  close  at  hand. 
"What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  I.  "Put  an  end,  I  beseech 
you,  to  this  suspense." 

"Be  not  alarmed;  you  will  never  more  behold  the 
face  of  this  criminal,  unless  he  be  gifted  with  super- 


1 82  WIELAND. 

natural  strength,  and  sever  like  threads  the  constraint 
of  links  and  bolts.  I  have  said  that  the  assassin  was 
arraigned  at  the  bar,  and  that  the  trial  ended  with  a 
summons  from  the  judge  to  confess  or  to  vindicate  his 
actions.  A  reply  was  immediately  made  with  signifi 
cance  of  gesture  and  a  tranquil  majesty  which  denoted 
less  of  humanity  than  godhead.  Judges,  advocates,  and 
auditors  were  panic-struck  and  breathless  with  atten 
tion.  One  of  the  hearers  faithfully  recorded  the  speech. 
"There  it  is,"  continued  he,  putting  a  roll  of  papers  in 
my  hand:  "you  may  read  it  at  your  leisure." 

With  these  words,  my  uncle  left  me  alone.  My 
curiosity  refused  me  a  moment's  delay.  I  opened  the 
papers,  and  read  as  follows. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"THEODORE  WIELAND,  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  was 
now  called  upon  for  his  defence.  He  looked  around 
him  for  some  time  in  silence,  and  with  a  mild  counte 
nance.  At  length  he  spoke  : — 

"It  is  strange:  I  am  known  to  my  judges  and  my 
auditors.  Who  is  there  present  a  stranger  to  the  cha 
racter  of  Wieland  ?  who  knows  him  not  as  a  husband, — 
as  a  father, — as  a  friend  ?  yet  here  am  I  arraigned  as  a 
criminal.  I  am  charged  with  diabolical  malice ;  I  am 
accused  of  the  murder  of  my  wife  and  my  children ! 

"It  is  true,  they  were  slain  by  me :  they  all  perished 
by  my  hand.  The  task  of  vindication  is  ignoble.  What 
is  it  that  I  am  called  to  vindicate  ?  and  before  whom  ? 

"You  know  that  they  are  dead,  and  that  they  were 
killed  by  me.  What  more  would  you  have  ?  Would 
you  extort  from  me  a  statement  of  my  motives  ?  Have 
you  failed  to  discover  them  already  ?  You  charge  me 
with  malice ;  but  your  eyes  are  not  shut ;  your  reason  is 
still  vigorous  ;  your  memory  has  not  forsaken  you.  Y^ou 
know  whom  it  is  that  you  thus  charge.  The  habits  of 
his  life  are  known  to  you ;  his  treatment  of  his  wife  and 
his  offspring  is  known  to  you ;  the  soundness  of  his  in 
tegrity,  and  the  unchangeableness  of  his  principles,  are 
familiar  to  your  apprehension ;  yet  you  persist  in  this 
charge  !  You  lead  me  hither  manacled  as  a  felon ;  you 
deem  me  worthy  of  a  vile  and  tormenting  death ! 

"Who  are  they  whom  I  have  devoted  to  death ?  My 
wife — the  little  ones,  that  drew  their  being  from  me— 
that  creature  who,  as  she  surpassed  them  in  excellence, 
claimed  a  larger  affection  than  those  whom  natural  affini 
ties  bound  to  my  heart.  Think  ye  that  malice  could 

183 


1 84  WIELAND;    OR, 

have  urged  me  to  this  deed?  Hide  your  audacious 
fronts  from  the  scrutiny  of  heaven.  Take  refuge  in 
some  cavern  un visited  by  human  eyes.  Ye  may  deplore 
your  wickedness  or  folly,  but  ye  cannot  expiate  it. 

"Think  not  that  I  speak  for  your  sakes.  Hug  to 
your  hearts  this  detestable  infatuation.  Deem  me  still 
a  murderer,  and  drag  me  to  untimely  death.  I  make 
not  an  effort  to  dispel  your  illusion ;  I  utter  not  a  word 
to  cure  you  of  your  sanguinary  folly ;  but  there  are  pro 
bably  some  in  this  assembly  who  have  come  from  far  ; 
for  their  sakes,  whose  distance  has  disabled  them  from 
knowing  me,  I  will  tell  what  I  have  done,  and  why. 

"It  is  needless  to  say  that  God  is  the  object  of  my 
supreme  passion.  I  have  cherished  in  his  presence  a 
single  and  upright  heart.  I  have  thirsted  for  the  know 
ledge  of  his  will.  I  have  burnt  with  ardour  to  approve 
my  faith  and  my  obedience. 

"My  days  have  been  spent  in  searchng  for  the  reve 
lation  of  that  will ;  but  my  days  have  been  mournful, 
because  my  search  failed.  I  solicited  direction;  I 
turned  on  every  side  where  glimmerings  of  light  could 
be  discovered.  I  have  not  been  wholly  uninformed ;  but 
my  knowledge  has  always  stopped  short  of  certainty. 
Dissatisfaction  has  insinuated  itself  into  all  my  thoughts. 
My  purposes  have  been  pure,  my  wishes  indefatigable  ; 
but  not  till  lately  were  these  purposes  thoroughly  accom 
plished  and  these  wishes  fully  gratified. 

"I  thank  thee,  my  Father,  for  thy  bounty;  that  thou 
didst  not  ask  a  less  sacrifice  than  this ;  that  thou 
placedst  me  in  a  condition  to  testify  my  submission  to 
thy  will !  What  have  I  withheld  which  it  was  thy  plea 
sure  to  exact  ?  Now  may  I,  with  dauntless  and  erect 
eye,  claim  my  reward,  since  I  have  given  thee  the  trea 
sure  of  my  soul. 

" I  was  at  my  own  house ;  it  was  late  in  the  evening; 
my  sister  had  gone  to  the  city,  but  proposed  to  return. 
It  was  in  expectation  of  her  return  that  my  wife  and  I 
delayed  going  to  bed  beyond  the  usual  hour ;  the  rest  of 
the  family,  however,  were  retired. 

"My  mind  was  contemplative  and  calm, — not  wholly 
devoid  of  apprehension  on  account  of  my  sister's  safety. 


THE   TRANSFORMATION.  185 

Recent  events,  not  easily  explained,  had  suggested  the 
existence  of  some  danger;  but  this  danger  was  without 
a  distinct  form  in  our  imagination,  and  scarcely  ruffled 
our  tranquillity. 

"Time  passed,  and  my  sister  did  not  arrive.  Her 
house  is  at  some  distance  from  mine,  and,  though  her 
arrangements  had  been  made  with  a  view  to  residing 
with  us,  it  was  possible  that,  through  forgetfulness,  or 
the  occurrence  of  unforeseen  emergencies,  she  had 
returned  to  her  own  dwelling. 

"Hence  it  was  conceived  proper  that  I  should  ascer 
tain  the  truth  by  going  thither.  I  went.  On  my  way 
my  mind  was  full  of  those  ideas  which  related  to  my 
intellectual  condition.  In  the  torrent  of  fervid  concep 
tions,  I  lost  sight  of  my  purpose.  Sometimes  I  stood 
still ;  sometimes  I  wandered  from  my  path,  and  expe 
rienced  some  difficulty,  on  recovering  from  my  fit  of 
musing,  to  regain  it. 

"  The  series  of  my  thoughts  is  easily  traced.  At  first 
every  vein  beat  with  raptures  known  only  to  the  man 
whose  parental  and  conjugal  love  is  without  limits,  and 
the  cup  of  whose  desires,  immense  as  it  is,  overflows 
with  gratification.  I  know  not  why  emotions  that  were 
perpetual  visitants  should  now  have  recurred  with  un 
usual  energy.  The  transition  was  not  new  from  sensa 
tions  of  joy  to  a  consciousness  of  gratitude.  The  Au 
thor  of  my  being  was  likewise  the  dispenser  of  every 
gift  with  which  that  being  was  embellished.  The  service 
to  which  a  benefactor  like  this  was  entitled  could  not  be 
circumscribed.  My  social  sentiments  were  indebted  to 
their  alliance  with  devotion  for  all  their  value.  All 
passions  are  base,  all  joys  feeble,  all  energies  malignant, 
which  are  not  drawn  From  this  source. 

"For  a  time  my  contemplations  soared  above  earth 
and  its  inhabitants.  I  stretched  forth  my  hands ;  I 
lifted  my  eyes,  and  exclaimed,  *  Oh  that  I  might  be 
admitted  to  thy  presence !  that  mine  were  the  supreme 
delight  of  knowing  thy  will,  and  of  performing  it ! — 
the  blissful  privilege  of  direct  communication  with  thee, 
and  of  listening  to  the  audible  enunciation  of  thy  plea 
sure  ! 


1 86  WIELAND;    OR, 

"'What  task  would  I  not  undertake,  what  privation 
would  I  not  cheerfully  endure,  to  testify  my  love  of  thee  ? 
Alas  !  thou  hidest  thyself  from  my  view ;  glimpses  only 
of  thy  excellence  and  beauty  are  afforded  me.  Would 
that  a  momentary  emanation  from  thy  glory  would  visit 
me!  that  some  unambiguous  token  of  thy  presence 
would  salute  my  senses  !' 

"In  this  mood  I  entered  the  house  of  my  sister.  It 
was  vacant.  Scarcely  had  I  regained  recollection  of  the 
purpose  that  brought  me  hither.  Thoughts  of  a  different 
tendency  had  such  absolute  possession  of  my  mind,  that 
the  relations  of  time  and  space  were  almost  obliterated 
from  my  understanding.  These  wanderings,  however, 
were  restrained,  and  I  ascended  to  her  chamber. 

"I  had  no  light,  and  might  have  known  by  external 
observation  that  the  house  was  without  any  inhabitant. 
With  this,  however,  I  was  not  satisfied.  I  entered  the 
room,  and,  the  object  of  my  search  not  appearing,  I 
prepared  to  return. 

"  The  darkness  required  some  caution  in  descending 
the  stair.  I  stretched  my  hand  to  seize  the  balustrade  by 
which  I  might  regulate  my  steps.  How  shall  I  describe 
the  lustre  which  at  that  moment  burst  upon  my  vision  ? 

"I  was  dazzled.  My  organs  were  bereaved  of  their 
activity.  My  eyelids  were  half-closed,  and  my  hands 
withdrawn  from  the  balustrade.  A  nameless  fear  chilled 
my  veins,  and  I  stood  motionless.  This  irradiation  did 
not  retire  or  lessen.  It  seemed  as  if  some  powerful 
effulgence  covered  me  like  a  mantle. 

"I  opened  my  eyes  and  found  all  about  me  luminous 
and  glowing.  It  was  the  element  of  heaven  that  flowed 
around.  Nothing  but  a  fiery  stream  was  at  first  visible ; 
but,  anon,  a  shrill  voice  from  behind  called  upon  me  to 
attend. 

"I  turned.  It  is  forbidden  to  describe  what  I  saw: 
words,  indeed,  would  be  wanting  to  the  task.  The  linea 
ments  of  that  being  whose  veil  was  now  lifted  and  whose 
visage  beamed  upon  my  sight,  no  hues  of  pencil  or  of 
language  can  portray. 

"As  it  spoke,  the  accents  thrilled  to  my  heart: — 'Thy 
prayers  are  heard.  In  proof  of  thy  faith,  render  me 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  l8/ 

thy  wife.  This  is  the  victim  I  choose.  Call  her  hither, 
and  here  let  her  fall.'  The  sound,  and  visage,  and  light 
vanished  at  once. 

"What  demand  was  this?  The  blood  of  Catharine 
was  to  be  shed !  My  wife  was  to  perish  by  my  hand ! 
I  sought  opportunity  to  attest  my  virtue.  Little  did  I 
expect  that  a  proof  like  this  would  have  been  demanded. 

"' My  wife!'  I  exclaimed;  '0  God!  substitute  some 
other  victim.  Make  me  not  the  butcher  of  my  wife. 
My  own  blood  is  cheap.  This  will  I  pour  out  before 
thee  with  a  willing  heart ;  but  spare,  I  beseech  thee,  this 
precious  life,  or  commission  some  other  than  her  husband 
to  perform  the  bloody  deed.' 

"In  vain.  The  conditions  were  prescribed;  the  de 
cree  had  gone  forth,  and  nothing  remained  but  to  exe 
cute  it.  I  rushed  out  of  the  house  and  across  the  inter 
mediate  fields,  and  stopped  not  till  I  entered  my  own 
parlour. 

"  My  wife  had  remained  here  during  my  absence,  in 
anxious  expectation  of  my  return  with  some  tidings  of 
her  sister.  I  had  none  to  communicate.  For  a  time  I 
was  breathless  with  my  speed.  This,  and  the  tremors 
that  shook  my  frame,  and  the  wildness  of  my  looks, 
alarmed  her.  She  immediately  suspected  some  disaster 
to  have  happened  to  her  friend,  and  her  own  speech  was 
as  much  overpowered  by  emotion  as  mine. 

"  She  was  silent,  but  her  looks  manifested  her  impa 
tience  to  hear  what  I  had  to  communicate.  I  spoke,  but 
with  so  much  precipitation  as  scarcely  to  be  understood ; 
catching  her,  at  the  same  time,  by  the  arm,  and  forcibly 
pulling  her  from  her  seat. 

"  *  Come  along  with  me;  fly;  w^aste  not  a  moment; 
time  wrill  be  lost,  and  the  deed  will  be  omitted.  Tarry 
not;  question  not;  but  fly  with  me!' 

"  This  deportment  added  afresh  to  her  alarms.  Her 
eyes  pursued  mine,  and  she  said,  '  What  is  the  matter  ? 
For  God's  sake,  what  is  the  matter  ?  Where  would  you 
have  me  go?' 

"My  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  countenance  while  she 
spoke.  I  thought  upon  her  virtues ;  I  viewed  her  as  the 
mother  of  my  babes ;  as  my  wife.  I  recalled  the  purpose 


1 88  WIELAND;    OR, 

for  which  I  thus  urged  her  attendance.  My  heart 
faltered,  and  I  saw  that  I  must  rouse  to  this  work  all 
my  faculties.  The  danger  of  the  least  delay  was  im 
minent. 

"I  looked  away  from  her,  and,  again  exerting  my 
force,  drew  her  towards  the  door : — '  You  must  go  with 
me;  indeed  you  must.' 

"In  her  fright  she  half  resisted  my  efforts,  and  again 
exclaimed,  i  Good  heaven !  what  is  it  you  mean  ?  Where 
go?  What  has  happened?  Have  you  found  Clara?' 

" i  Follow  me,  and  you  will  see,'  I  answered,  still  urging 
her  reluctant  steps  forward. 

" '  What  frenzy  has  seized  you  ?  Something  must  needs 
have  happened.  Is  she  sick  ?  Have  you  found  her  ?' 

" '  Come  and  see.     Follow  me,  and  know  for  yourself/ 

"  Still  she  expostulated,  and  besought  me  to  explain 
this  mysterious  behaviour.  I  could  not  trust  myself 
to  answer  her,  to  look  at  her ;  but,  grasping  her  arm,  I  drew 
her  after  me.  She  hesitated,  rather  through  confusion 
of  mind  than  from  unwillingness  to  accompany  me.  This 
confusion  gradually  abated,  and  she  moved  forward,  but 
with  irresolute  footsteps  and  continual  exclamations  of 
wonder  and  terror.  Her  interrogations  of  'what  was 
the  matter?'  and  'whither  was  I  going?'  were  ceaseless 
and  vehement. 

"  It  was  the  scope  of  my  efforts  not  to  think;  to  keep 
up  a  conflict  and  uproar  in  my  mind  in  which  all  order 
and  distinctness  should  be  lost ;  to  escape  from  the  sensa 
tions  produced  by  her  voice.  I  was  therefore  silent.  I 
strove  to  abridge  this  interval  by  my  haste,  and  to  waste 
all  my  attention  in  furious  gesticulations. 

"In  this  state  of  mind  we  reached  my  sister's  door. 
She  looked  at  the  windows  and  saw  that  all  was  desolate. 
'  Why  come  we  here  ?  There  is  nobody  here.  I  will  not 
go  in.^ 

"  Still  I  was  dumb ;  but,  opening  the  door,  I  drew  her 
into  the  entry.  This  was  the  allotted  scene ;  here  she  was 
to  fall.  I  let  go  her  hand,  and,  pressing  my  palms  against 
my  forehead,  made  one  mighty  effort  to  work  up  my  soul 
to  the  deed. 

"In  vain;  it  would  not  be ;  my  courage  was  appalled, 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  189 

my  arms  nerveless.  I  muttered  prayers  that  my  strength 
might  be  aided  from  above.  They  availed  nothing. 

"Horror  diffused  itself  over  me.  This  conviction  of 
my  cowardice,  my  rebellion,  fastened  upon  me,  and  I 
stood  rigid  and  cold  as  marble.  From  this  state  I  was 
somewhat  relieved  by  my  wife's  voice,  who  renewed  her 
supplications  to  be  told  why  we  came  hither  and  what 
was  the  fate  of  my  sister. 

"What  could  I  answer?  My  words  were  broken  and 
inarticulate.  Her  fears  naturally  acquired  force  from 
the  observation  of  these  symptoms ;  but  these  fears  were 
misplaced.  The  only  inference  she  deduced  from  my 
conduct  was  that  some  terrible  mishap  had  befallen  Clara. 

"  She  wrung  her  hands,  and  exclaimed,  in  an  agony, 
1  Oh,  tell  me,  where  is  she  ?  What  has  become  of  her  ? 
Is  she  sick  ?  Dead  ?  Is  she  in  her  chamber  ?  Oh,  let 
me  go  thither  and  know  the  worst !' 

"  This  proposal  set  my  thoughts  once  more  in  motion. 
Perhaps  what  my  rebellious  heart  refused  to  perform 
here,  I  might  obtain  strength  enough  to  execute  elsewhere. 

"  'Come,  then,'  said  I;  'let  us  go.' 

"  'I  will,  but  not  in  the  dark.  We  must  first  procure 
a  light.' 

" '  Fly,  then,  and  procure  it ;  but,  I  charge  you,  linger 
not.  I  will  await  for  your  return.' 

"  While  she  was  gone,  I  strode  along  the  entry.  The 
fellness  of  a  gloomy  hurricane  but  faintly  resembled  the 
discord  that  reigned  in  my  mind.  To  omit  this  sacrifice 
must  not  be;  yet  my  sinews  had  refused  to  perform  it. 
No  alternative  was  offered.  To  rebel  against  the  man 
date  was  impossible ;  but  obedience  would  render  me  the 
executioner  of  my  wife.  My  will  was  strong,  but  my 
limbs  refused  their  office. 

"  She  returned  with  a  light.  I  led  the  way  to  the 
chamber:  she  looked  round  her;  she  lifted  the  curtain 
of  the  bed;  she  saw  nothing. 

"At  length  she  fixed  inquiring  eyes  upon  me.  The 
light  now  enabled  her  to  discover  in  my  visage  what  dark 
ness  had  hitherto  concealed.  Her  cares  were  now  trans 
ferred  from  my  sister  to  myself,  and  she  said,  in  a  tremu- 


190  WIELAND;    ORt 

lous  voice,  <  Wieland,  you  are  not  well :  what  ails  you  ? 
Can  I  do  nothing  for  you?' 

"That  accents  and  looks  so  winning  should  disarm 
me  of  my  resolution,  was  to  be  expected.  My  thoughts 
were  thrown  anew  into  anarchy.  I  spread  my  hand 
before  my  eyes  that  I  might  not  see  her,  and  answered 
only  by  groans.  She  took  my  other  hand  between  hers, 
and,  pressing  it  to  her  heart,  spoke  with  that  voice  which 
had  ever  swayed  my  will  and  wafted  away  sorrow : — 

"  'My  friend!  my  soul's  friend!  tell  me  thy  cause  of 
grief.  Do  I  not  merit  to  partake  with  thee  in  thy  cares  ? 
Am  I  not  thy  wife  ?' 

"  This  was  too  much.  I  broke  from  her  embrace,  and 
retired  to  a  corner  of  the  room.  In  this  pause,  courage 
was  once  more  infused  into  me.  I  resolved  to  execute 
my  duty.  She  followed  me,  and  renewed  her  passionate 
entreaties  to  know  the  cause  of  my  distress. 

"I  raised  my  head  and  regarded  her  with  steadfast 
looks.  I  muttered  something  about  death,  and  the  in 
junctions  of  my  duty.  At  these  words  she  shrunk  back, 
and  looked  at  me  with  a  new  expression  of  anguish. 
After  a  pause,  she  clasped  her  hands,  and  exclaimed, — 

"  'Oh,  Wieland!  Wieland!  God  grant  that  I  am  mis 
taken  !  but  something  surely  is  wrong.  I  see  it ;  it  is 
too  plain;  thou  art  undone, — lost  to  me  and  to  thyself.' 
At  the  same  time  she  gazed  on  my  features  with  intensest 
anxiety,  in  hope  that  different  symptoms  would  take 
place.  I  replied  to  her  with  vehemence, — 

"  ' Undone!  No;  my  duty  is  known,  and  I  thank  my 
God  that  my  cowardice  is  now  vanquished,  and  I  have 
power  to  fulfil  it.  Catharine,  I  pity  the  weakness  of 
thy  nature ;  I  pity  thee,  but  must  not  spare.  Thy  life 
is  claimed  from  my  hands  ;  thou  must  die !' 

"  Fear  was  now  added  to  her  grief.  '  What  mean  you  ? 
Why  talk  you  of  death?  Bethink  yourself,  Wieland; 
bethink  yourself,  and  this  fit  will  pass.  Oh,  why  came  I 
hither?  Why  did  you  drag  me  hither?' 

"'I  brought  thee  hither  to  fulfil  a  divine  command. 
I  am  appointed  thy  destroyer,  and  destroy  thee  I  must.' 
Saying  this,  I  seized  her  wrists.  She  shrieked  aloud, 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  19 1 

and  endeavoured  to  free  herself  from  my  grasp ;  but  her 
efforts  were  vain. 

" '  Surely,  surely,  Wieland,  thou  dost  not  mean  it. 
Am  I  not  thy  wife  ?  and  wouldst  thou  kill  me  ?  Thou 
wilt  not ;  and  yet — I  see — thou  art  Wieland  no  longer  ! 
A^Cujj  resistless  and  horrible  possesses  thee : — spare  me 
— spare — help — help — ' 

"  Till  her  breath  was  stopped  she  shrieked  for  help,- 
for  mercy.  When  she  could  speak  no  longer,  her  gestures, 
her  looks,  appealed  to  my  compassion.  My  accursed 
hand  was  irresolute  and  tremulous.  I  meant  thy  death 
to  be  sudden,  thy  struggles  to  be  brief.  Alas  !  my  heart 
was  infirm,  my  resolves  mutable.  Thrice  I  slackened 
my  grasp,  and  life  kept  its  hold,  though  in  the  midst  of 
pangs.  Her  eyeballs  started  from  their  sockets.  Grim- 
ness  and  distortion  took  place  of  all  that  used  to  bewitch 
me  into  transport  and  subdue  me  into  reverence. 

"I  was  commissioned  to  kill  thee,  but  not  to  torment 
thee  with  the  foresight  of  thy  death;  not  to  multiply 
thy  fears  and  prolong  thy  agonies.  Haggard,  and  pale, 
and  lifeless,  at  length  thou  ceasedst  to  contend  with  thy 
destiny. 

"  This  was  a  moment  of  triumph.  Thus  had  I  success 
fully  subdued  the  stubbornness  of  human  passions:  the 
victim  which  had  been  demanded  was  given ;  the  deed 
was  done  past  recall. 

"I  lifted  the  corpse  in  my  arms  and  laid  it  on  the 
bed.  I  gazed  upon  it  with  delight.  Such  was  the  ela 
tion  of  my  thoughts,  that  I  even  broke  into  laughter.  I 
clapped  my  hands  and  exclaimed,  '  It  is  done !  My  sacred 
duty  is  fulfilled !  To  that  I  have  sacrificed,  0  my  God ! 
thy  last  and  best  gift,  my  wife !' 

"For  a  while  I  thus  soared  above  frailty.  I  imagined 
I  had  set  myself  forever  beyond  the  reach  of  selfishness ; 
but  my  imaginations  were  false.  This  rapture  quickly 
subsided.  I  looked  again  at  my  wife.  My  joyous  ebul 
litions  vanished,  and  I  asked  myself  who  it  was  whom 
I  saw.  Methought  it  could  not  be  Catharine.  It  could 
not  be  the  woman  who  had  lodged  for  years  in  my  heart ; 
who  had  slept  nightly  in  my  bosom;  who  had  borne 
in  her  womb,  who  had  fostered  at  her  breast,  the  beings 


192  W IE  LAND;    ORt 

who  called  me  father;  whom  I  had  watched  with  delight, 
and  cherished  with  a  fondness  ever  new  and  perpetually 
growing :  it  could  not  be  the  same. 

"Where  was  her  bloom?  These  deadly  and  blood- 
suffused  orbs  but  ill  resemble  the  azure  and  ecstatic  ten 
derness  of  her  eyes.  The  lucid  stream  that  meandered 
over  that  bosom,  the  glow  of  love  that  was  wont  to  sit 
upon  that  cheek,  are  much  unlike  these  livid  stains  and 
this  hideous  deformity.  Alas  !  these  were  the  traces  of 
agony ;  the  gripe  of  the  assassin  had  been  here  ! 

"  I  will  not  dwell  upon  my  lapse  into  desperate  and 
outrageous  sorrow.  The  breath  of  heaven  that  sus 
tained  me  was  withdrawn,  and  I  sunk  into  mere  man. 
I  leaped  from  the  floor ;  I  dashed  my  head  against  the 
wall ;  I  uttered  screams  of  horror ;  I  panted  after  tor 
ment  and  pain.  Eternal  fire,  and  the  bickerings  of 
hell,  compared  with  what  I  felt,  were  music  and  a  bed 
of  roses. 

"  I  thank  my  God  that  this  degeneracy  was  transient, 
— that  he  deigned  once  more  to  raise  me  aloft.  I 
thought  upon  what  I  had  done  as  a  sacrifice  to  duty, 
and  was  calm.  My  wife  was  dead ;  but  I  reflected  that 
though  this  source  of  human  consolation  was  closed,  yet 
others  were  still  open.  If  the  transports  of  a  husband 
were  no  more,  the  feelings  of  a  father  had  still  scope  for 
exercise.  When  remembrance  of  their  mother  should 
excite  too  keen  a  pang,  I  would  look  upon  them  and  be 
comforted. 

u  While  I  revolved  these  ideas,  new  warmth  flowed  in 
upon  my  heart — I  was  wrong.  These  feelings  were  the 
growth  of  selfishness.  Of  this  I  was  not  aware,  and,  to 
dispel  the  mist  that  obscured  my  perceptions,  a  new  efful 
gence  and  a  new  mandate  were  necessary. 

"  From  these  thoughts  I  was  recalled  by  a  ray  that 
was  shot  into  the  room.  A  voice  spake  like  that  which 
I  had  before  heard : — '  Thou  hast  done  well.  But  all  is 
not  done — the  sacrifice  is  incomplete — thy  children  must 
be  offered — they  must  perish  with  their  mother ! ' 


CHAPTER  XX. 

WILL  you  wonder  that  I  read  no  further  ?  Will  you 
not  rather  be  astonished  that  I  read  thus  far?  What 
power  supported  me  through  such  a  task  I  know  not. 
Perhaps  the  doubt  from  which  I  could  not  disengage  my 
mind — that  the  scene  here  depicted  was  a  dream — con 
tributed  to  my  perseverance.  In  vain  the  solemn  intro 
duction  of  my  uncle,  his  appeals  to  my  fortitude,  and 
allusions  to  something  monstrous  in  the  events  he  was 
about  to  disclose, — in  vain  the  distressful  perplexity,  the 
mysterious  silence  and  ambiguous  answers,  of  my  attend 
ants,  especially  when  the  condition  of  my  brother  wTas 
the  theme  of  my  inquiries, — were  remembered.  I  re 
called  the  interview  with  Wieland  in  my  chamber,  his 
preternatural  tranquillity  succeeded  by  bursts  of  passion 
and  menacing  actions.  All  these  coincided  with  the 
tenor  of  this  paper. 

Catharine  and  her  children,  and  Louisa,  were  dead. 
The  act  that  destroyed  them  was  in  the  highest  degree 
inhuman.  It  was  worthy  of  savages  trained  to  murder 
and  exulting  in  agonies. 

Who  was  the  performer  of  the  deed  ?  Wieland  !  My 
brother !  The  husband  and  the  father !  That  man  of 
gentle  virtues  and  invincible  benignity!  placable  and 
mild, — an  idolater  of  peace!  "  Surely,"  said  I,  "it  is 
a  dream.  For  many  days  have  I  been  vexed  with 
frenzy.  Its  dominion  is  still  felt ;  but  new  forms  are 
called  up  to  diversify  and  augment  my  torments." 

The  paper  dropped  from  my  hand,  and  my  eyes  fol 
lowed  it.  I  shrunk  back,  as  if  to  avoid  some  petrifying 
influence  that  approached  me.  My  tongue  was  mute ; 
all  the  functions  of  nature  were  at  a  stand,  and  I  sunk 
upon  the  floor  lifeless. 

13  193 


194  V/IELAND;    OR, 

The  noise  of  my  fall,  as  I  afterwards  heard,  alarmed 
my  uncle,  who  was  in  a  lower  apartment,  and  whose 
apprehensions  had  detained  him.  He  hastened  to  my 
chamber,  and  administered  the  assistance  which  my  con 
dition  required.  When  I  opened  my  eyes  I  beheld  him 
before  me.  His  skill  as  a  reasoner  as  well  as  a  physician 
was  exerted  to  obviate  the  injurious  effects  of  this  dis 
closure  ;  but  he  had  wrongly  estimated  the  strength  of 
my  body  or  of  my  mind.  This  new  shock  brought  me 
once  more  to  the  brink  of  the  grave,  and  my  malady 
was  much  more  difficult  to  subdue  than  at  first. 

I  will  not  dwell  upon  the  long  train  of  dreary  sensa 
tions,  and  the  hideous  confusion  of  my  understanding. 
Time  slowly  restored  its  customary  firmness  to  my  frame 
and  order  to  my  thoughts.  The  images  impressed  upon 
my  mind  by  this  fatal  paper  were  somewhat  effaced  by 
my  malady.  They  were  obscure  and  disjointed,  like  the 
parts  of  a  dream.  I  was  desirous  of  freeing  my  imagi 
nation  from  this  chaos.  For  this  end  I  questioned  my 
uncle,  who  was  my  constant  companion.  He  wras  in 
timidated  by  the  issue  of  his  first  experiment,  and  took 
pains  to  elude  or  discourage  my  inquiry.  My  impe 
tuosity  sometimes  compelled  him  to  have  resort  to  mis 
representations  and  untruths. 

Time  effected  that  end,  perhaps,  in  a  more  beneficial 
manner.  In  the  course  of  my  meditations  the  recollec 
tions  of  the  past  gradually  became  more  distinct.  I 
revolved  them,  however,  in  silence,  and,  being  no  longer 
accompanied  with  surprise,  they  did  not  exercise  a  death- 
dealing  power.  I  had  discontinued  the  perusal  of  the 
paper  in  the  midst  of  the  narrative ;  but  what  I  read, 
combined  with  information  elsewhere  obtained,  threw, 
perhaps,  a  sufficient  light  upon  these  detestable  trans 
actions  ;  yet  my  curiosity  was  not  inactive.  I  desired  to 
peruse  the  remainder. 

My  eagerness  to  know  the  particulars  of  this  tale  was 
mingled  and  abated  by  my  antipathy  to  the  scene  which 
would  be  disclosed.  Hence  I  employed  no  means  to 
effect  my  purpose.  I  desired  knowledge,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  shrunk  back  from  receiving  the  boon. 

One  morning,  being  left  alone,  I  rose  from  my  bed, 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  195 

and  went  to  a  drawer  where  my  finer  clothing  used  to  be 
kept.  I  opened  it,  and  this  fatal  paper  saluted  my  sight. 
I  snatched  it  involuntarily,  and  withdrew  to  a  chair.  I 
debated,  for  a  few  minutes,  whether  I  should  open  and 
read.  Now  that  my  fortitude  was  put  to  trial,  it  failed. 
I  felt  myself  incapable  of  deliberately  surveying  a  scene 
of  so  much  horror.  I  was  prompted  to  return  it  to  its 
place ;  but  this  resolution  gave  way,  and  I  determined 
to  peruse  some  part  of  it.  I  turned  over  the  leaves  till 
I  came  near  the  conclusion.  The  narrative  of  the  cri 
minal  was  finished,  the  verdict  of  guilty  reluctantly  pro 
nounced  by  the  jury,  and  the  accused  interrogated  why 
sentence  of  death  should  not  pass.  The  answer  was 
brief,  solemn,  and  emphatical. 

"  No.  I  have  nothing  to  say.  My  tale  has  been 
told.  My  motives  have  been  truly  stated.  If  my  judges 
are  unable  to  discern  the  purity  of  my  intentions,  or  to 
credit  the  statement  of  them  which  I  have  just  made ; 
if  they  see  not  that  my  deed  was  enjoined  by  heaven, 
that  obedience  was  the  test  of  perfect  virtue,  and  the 
extinction  of  selfishness  and  error,  they  must  pronounce 
me  a  murderer. 

"  They  refuse  to  credit  my  tale ;  they  impute  my  acts 
to  the  influence  of  demons ;  they  account  me  an  ex 
ample  of  the  highest  wickedness  of  which  human  nature 
is  capable ;  they  doom  me  to  death  and  infamy.  Have 
I  power  to  escape  this  evil  ?  If  I  have,  be  sure  I  will 
exert  it.  I  will  not  accept  evil  at  their  hand,  when  I  am 
entitled  to  good ;  I  will  suffer  only  when  I  cannot  elude 
suffering. 

"  You  say  that  I  am  guilty.  Impious  and  rash  !  thus 
to  usurp  the  prerogatives  of  your  Maker !  to  set  up  your 
bounded  views  and  halting  reason  as  the  measure  of 
truth ! 

"  Thou,  Omnipotent  and  Holy !  Thou  knowest  that 
my  actions  were  conformable  to  thy  will.  I  know  not 
what  is  crime ;  what  actions  are  evil  in  their  ultimate 
and  comprehensive  tendency,  or  what  are  good.  Thy 
knowledge,  as  thy  power,  is  unlimited.  I  have  taken 
thee  for  my  guide,  and  cannot  err.  To  the  arms  of  thy 


196  WIELAND;    OR, 

protection  I  intrust  my  safety.  In  the  awards  of  thy 
justice  I  confide  for  my  recompense. 

"  Come  death  when  it  will,  I  am  safe.  Let  calumny 
and  abhorrence  pursue  me  among  men ;  I  shall  not  be 
defrauded  of  my  dues.  The  peace  of  virtue,  and  the 
glory  of  obedience,  will  be  my  portion  hereafter. " 

Here  ended  the  speaker.  I  withdrew  my  eyes  from 
the  page ;  but,  before  I  had  time  to  reflect  on  what  I 
had  read,  Mr.  Cambridge  entered  the  room.  He  quickly 
perceived  how  I  had  been  employed,  and  betrayed  some 
solicitude  respecting  the  condition  of  my  mind. 

His  fears,  however,  were  superfluous.  What  I  Imd  read 
threw  me  into  a  state  not  easily  described.  Anguish  and 
fury,  however,  had  no  part  in  it.  My  faculties  were 
chained  up  in  wonder  and  awe.  Just  then,  I  was  unable 
to  speak.  I  looked  at  my  friend  with  an  air  of  inquisi- 
tiveness,  and  pointed  at  the  roll.  He  comprehended  my 
inquiry,  and  answered  me  with  looks  of  gloomy  acqui 
escence.  After  some  time,  my  thoughts  found  their  way 
to  my  lips. 

Such,  then,  were  the  acts  of  my  brother.  Such  were 
his  words.  For  this  he  was  condemned  to  die ;  to  die 
upon  the  gallows !  A  fate  cruel  and  unmerited !  "And 
is  it  so?"  continued  I,  struggling  for  utterance,  which 
this  new  idea  made  difficult;  "is  he — dead?" 

"No.  He  is  alive.  There  could  be  no  doubt  as  to 
the  cause  of  these  excesses.  They  originated  in  sudden 
madness ;  but  that  madness  continues,  and  he  is  condemned 
to  perpetual  imprisonment." 

"  Madness,  say  you  ?  Are  you  sure  ?  Were  not  these 
sights  and  these  sounds  really  seen  and  heard?" 

My  uncle  was  surprised  at  my  question.  He  looked 
at  me  with  apparent  inquietude.  "Can  you  doubt," 
said  he,  "  that  these  were  illusions  ?  Does  heaven,  think 
you,  interfere  for  such  ends?" 

"  Oh,  no  ;  I  think  it  not.  Heaven  cannot  stimulate 
to  such  unheard-of  outrage.  The  agent  was  not  good, 
but  evil." 

"Nay,  my  dear  girl,"  said  my  friend,  "lay  aside  these 
fancies.  Neither  angel  nor  devil  had  any  part  in  this 
affair." 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  197 

"You  misunderstand  me,"  I  answered;  "I  believe 
the  agency  to  be  external  and  real,  but  not  super 
natural." 

"Indeed I"  said  he,  in  an  accent  of  surprise.  "Whom 
do  you  then  suppose  to  be  the  agent?" 

"I  know  not.  All  is  wildering  conjecture.  I  cannot 
forget  Carwin.  I  cannot  banish  the  suspicion  that  he 
was  the  setter  of  these  snares.  But  how  can  we  suppose 
it  to  be  madness?  Did  insanity  ever  before  assume  this 
form?" 

"Frequently.  The  illusion,  in  this  case,  was  more 
dreadful  in  its  consequences  than  any  that  has  come  to  my 
knowledge;  but  I  repeat  that  similar  illusions  are  not 
rare.  Did  you  never  hear  of  an  instance  which  occurred 
in  your  mother's  family?" 

"No.  I  beseech  you,  relate  it.  My  grandfather's 
death  I  have  understood  to  have  been  extraordinary,  but 
I  know  not  in  what  respect.  A  brother,  to  whom  he 
was  much  attached,  died  in  his  youth ;  and  this,  as  I  have 
heard,  influenced,  in  some  remarkable  way,  the  fate  of 
my  grandfather;  but  I  am  unacquainted  with  particu 
lars." 

"On  the  death  of  that  brother,"  resumed  my  friend, 
"  my  father  was  seized  with  dejection,  which  was  found  to 
flow  from  two  sources.  He  not  only  grieved  for  the  loss 
of  a  friend,  but  entertained  the  belief  that  his  own  death 
would  be  inevitably  consequent  on  that  of  his  brother. 
He  waited  from  day  to  day  in  expectation  of  the  stroke 
which  he  predicted  was  speedily  to  fall  upon  him.  Gradu 
ally,  however,  he  recovered  his  cheerfulness  and  confidence. 
He  married,  and  performed  his  part  in  the  world  with 
spirit  and  activity.  At  the  end  of  twenty-one  years  it 
happened  that  he  spent  the  summer  with  his  family  at  a 
house  which  he  possessed  on  the  sea-coast  in  Cornwall. 
It  was  at  no  great  distance  from  a  cliff  which  overhung 
the  ocean  and  rose  into  the  air  to  a  great  height.  The 
summit  was  level  and  secure,  and  easily  ascended  on  the 
land  side.  The  company  frequently  repaired  hither  in 
clear  weather,  invited  by  its  pure  airs  and  extensive 
prospects.  One  evening  in  June  my  father,  with  his  wife 
and  some  friends,  chanced  to  be  on  this  spot.  Every 


198  WIELAND;    OR, 

one  was  happy,  and  my  father's  imagination  seemed 
particularly  alive  to  the  grandeur  of  the  scenery. 

"  Suddenly,  however,  his  limbs  trembled  and  his  features 
betrayed  alarm.  He  threw  himself  into  the  attitude  of 
one  listening.  He  gazed  earnestly  in  a  direction  in  which 
nothing  was  visible  to  his  friends.  This  lasted  for  a 
minute ;  then,  turning  to  his  companions,  he  told  them 
that  his  brother  had  just  delivered  to  him  a  summons, 
which  must  be  instantly  obeyed.  He  then  took  a  hasty 
and  solemn  leave  of  each  person,  and,  before  their  sur 
prise  would  allow  them  to  understand  the  scene,  he  rushed 
to  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  threw  himself  headlong,  and  was 
seen  no  more. 

"  In  the  course  of  my  practice  in  the  German  army, 
many  cases  equally  remarkable  have  occurred.  Unques 
tionably  the  illusions  were  maniacal,  though  the  vulgar 
thought  otherwise.  They  are  all  reducible  to  one  class,* 
and  are  not  more  difficult  of  explication  and  cure  than 
most  affections  of  our  frame." 

This  opinion  my  uncle  endeavoured,  by  various  means, 
to  impress  upon  me.  I  listened  to  his  reasonings  and 
illustrations  with  silent  respect.  My  astonishment  was 
great  on  finding  proofs  of  an  influence  of  which  I  had 
supposed  there  were  no  examples;  but  I  was  far  from 
accounting  for  appearances  in  my  uncle's  manner.  Ideas 
thronged  into  my  mind  which  I  was  unable  to  disjoin  or 
to  regulate.  I  reflected  that  this  madness,  if  madness 
it  were,  had  affected  Pleyel  and  myself  as  well  as  Wieland. 
Pleyel  had  heard  a  mysterious  voice.  I  had  seen  and  heard. 
A  form  had  showed  itself  to  me  as  well  as  to  Wieland. 
The  disclosure  had  been  made  in  the  same  spot.  The 
appearance  was  equally  complete  and  equally  prodigious 
in  both  instances.  Whatever  supposition  I  should  adopt, 
had  I  not  equal  reason  to  tremble  ?  What  was  my  secu 
rity  against  influences  equally  terrific  and  equally  irre 
sistible  ? 

It  would  be  vain  to  attempt  to  describe  the  state  of 
mind  which  this  idea  produced.  I  wondered  at  the  change 


*  Mania  mutabilis.      See  Darwin's  Zoonomia,  vol.  ii.  Class  III.  1,  2, 
where  similar  cases  are  stated. 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  199 

which  a  moment  had  effected  in  my  brother's  condition. 
Now  was  I  stupefied  with  tenfold  wonder  in  contemplating 
myself.  Was  I  not  likewise  transformed  from  rational 
and  human  into  a  creature  of  nameless  and  fearful  attri 
butes  ?  Was  I  not  transported  to  the  brink  of  the  same 
abyss  ?  Ere  a  new  day  should  come,  my  hands  might  be 
imbrued  in  blood,  and  my  remaining  life  be  consigned  to 
a  dungeon  and  chains. 

With  moral  sensibility  like  mine,  no  wonder  that  this 
new  dread  was  more  insupportable  than  the  anguish  I 
had  lately  endured.  Grief  carries  its  own  antidote  along 
with  it.  When  thought  becomes  merely  a  vehicle  of 
pain,  its  progress  must  be  stopped.  Death  is  a  cure 
which  nature  or  ourselves  must  administer.  To  this  cure 
I  now  looked  forward  with  gloomy  satisfaction. 

My  silence  could  not  conceal  from  my  uncle  the  state 
of  my  thoughts.  He  made  unwearied  efforts  to  divert 
my  attention  from  views  so  pregnant  with  danger.  His 
efforts,  aided  by  time,  were  in  some  measure  successful. 
Confidence  in  the  strength  of  my  resolution  and  in  the 
healthful  state  of  my  faculties  was  once  more  revived. 
I  was  able  to  devote  my  thoughts  to  my  brother's  state 
and  the  causes  of  this  disastrous  proceeding. 

My  opinions  were  the  sport  of  eternal  change.  Some 
times  I  conceived  the  apparition  to  be  more  than  human. 
I  had  no  grounds  on  which  to  build  a  disbelief.  I  could 
not  deny  faith  to  the  evidence  of  my  religion ;  the  testi 
mony  of  men  was  loud  and  unanimous :  both  these  con 
curred  to  persuade  me  that  evil  spirits  existed,  and  that 
their  energy  was  frequently  exerted  in  the  system  of  the 
world. 

These  ideas  connected  themselves  with  the  image  of 
Carwin.  "  Where  is  the  proof,"  said  I,  "  that  demons  may 
not  be  subjected  to  the  control  of  men  ?  This  truth  may 
be  distorted  and  debased  in  the  minds  of  the  ignorant. 
The  dogmas  of  the  vulgar  with  regard  to  this  subject  are 
glaringly  absurd ;  but,  though  those  may  justly  be  neg 
lected  by  the  wise,  we  are  scarcely  justified  in  totally 
rejecting  the  possibility  that  men  may  obtain  super 
natural  aid. 

"  The  dreams  of  superstition  are  worthy  of  contempt. 


20O  WIELAND. 

Witchcraft,  its  instruments  and  miracles,  the  compact 
ratified  by  a  bloody  signature,  the  apparatus  of  sulphur 
eous  smells  and  thundering  explosions,  are  monstrous 
and  chimerical.  These  have  no  part  in  the  scene  over 
which  the  genius  of  Carwin  presides.  That  conscious 
beings,  dissimilar  from  human,  but  moral  and  voluntary 
agents  as  we  are,  somewhere  exist,  can  scarcely  be  denied. 
That  their  aid  may  be  employed  to  benign  or  malignant 
purposes  cannot  be  disproved. 

"Darkness  rests  upon  the  designs  of  this  man.  The 
extent  of  his  power  is  unknown:  but  is  there  not  evi 
dence  that  it  has  been  now  exerted  ?" 

I  recurred  to  my  own  experience.  Here  Carwin  had 
actually  appeared  upon  the  stage;  but  this  was  in  a 
human  character.  A  voice  and  a  form  were  discovered ; 
but  one  was  apparently  exerted,  and  the  other  disclosed, 
not  to  befriend,  but  to  counteract,  Carwin's  designs. 
There  were  tokens  of  hostility,  and  not  of  alliance 
between  them.  Carwin  was  the  miscreant  whose  pro 
jects  were  resisted  by  a  minister  of  heaven.  How  can 
this  be  reconciled  to  the  stratagem  which  ruined  my 
brother  ?  There  the  agency  was  at  once  preternatural 
and  malignant. 

The  recollection  of  this  fact  led  my  thoughts  into  a 
new  channel.  The  malignity  of  that  influence  which 
governed  my  brother  had  hitherto  been  no  subject  of 
doubt.  His  wife  and  children  were  destroyed ;  they 
had  expired  in  agony  and  fear :  yet  was  it  indisputably 
certain  that  their  murderer  was  criminal  ?  He  was  ac 
quitted  at  the  tribunal  of  his  own  conscience ;  his  be 
haviour  at  his  trial,  and  since,  was  faithfully  reported  to 
me  ;  appearances  were  uniform ;  not  for  a  moment  did 
he  lay  aside  the  majesty  of  virtue ;  he  repelled  all  invec 
tives  by  appealing  to  the  Deity  and  to  the  tenor  of  his 
past  life.  Surely  there  was  truth  in  this  appeal :  none 
but  a  command  from  heaven  could  have  swayed  his  will ; 
and  nothing  but  unerring  proof  of  divine  approbation 
could  sustain  his  mind  in  its  present  elevation. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

SUCH,  for  some  time,  was  the  course  of  my  medita 
tions.  My  weakness,  and  my  aversion  to  be  pointed  out 
as  an  object  of  surprise  or  compassion,  prevented  me 
from  going  into  public.  I  studiously  avoided  the  visits 
of  those  who  came  to  express  their  sympathy  or  gratify 
their  curiosity.  My  uncle  was  my  principal  companion. 
Nothing  more  powerfully  tended  to  console  me  than  his 
conversation. 

With  regard  to  Pleyel,  my  feelings  seemed  to  have 
undergone  a  total  revolution.    It  often  happens  that  one 
passion  supplants  another.     Late  disasters  had  rent  my  i 
heart,   and,  now  that  the  wound  was  in  some   degree  j 
closed,  the   love  which  I  had   cherished  for  this  man   ; 
seemed  likewise  to  have  vanished. 

Hitherto,  indeed,  I  had  had  no  cause  for  despair.     I 
was  innocent  of  that  offence  which  had  estranged  him 
from  my  presence.     I  might  reasonably  expect  that  my 
innocence  would  at   some   time  be  irresistibly  demon 
strated,  and  his  affection  for  me   be  revived  with  his 
esteem.     Now  my  aversion  to  be  thought  culpable  by 
him  continued,  but  was  unattended  with  the  same  impa 
tience.     I  desired  the  removal  of  his  suspicions,  not  for  j 
the  sake  of  regaining  his  love,  but  because  I  delighted  / 
in  the  veneration  of  so  excellent  a  man,  and  because  he! 
himself  would  derive  pleasure   from  conviction  of  my| 
integrity. 

My  uncle  had  early  informed  me  that  Pleyel  and  he 
had  seen  each  other  since  the  return  of  the  latter  from 
Europe.  Amidst  the  topics  of  their  conversation,  I  dis 
covered  that  Pleyel  had  carefully  omitted  the  mention 
of  those  events  which  had  drawn  upon  me  so  much  ab- 

201 


2O2  WIELANDj    OR, 

horrenee.  I  could  not  account  for  his  silence  on  this 
subject.  Perhaps  time  or  some  new  discovery  had 
altered  or  shaken  his  opinion.  Perhaps  he  was  unwil 
ling,  though  I  were  guilty,  to  injure  me  in  the  opinion 
of  my  venerable  kinsman.  I  understood  that  he  had 
frequently  visited  me  during  my  disease,  had  watched 
many  successive  nights  by  my  bedside,  and  manifested 
the  utmost  anxiety  on  my  account. 

The  journey  which  he  was  preparing  to  take,  at  the 
termination  of  our  last  interview,  the  catastrophe  of  the 
ensuing  night  induced  him  to  delay.  The  motives  of 
this  journey  I  had  till  now  totally  mistaken.  They  were 
explained  to  me  by  my  uncle,  whose  tale  excited  my 
astonishment  without  awakening  my  regret.  In  a  dif 
ferent  state  of  mind,  it  would  have  added  unspeakably 
to  my  distress,  but  now  it  was  more  a  source  of  pleasure 
than  pain.  This,  perhaps,  is  not  the  least  extraordinary 
of  the  facts  contained  in  this  narrative.  It  will  excite 
less  wonder  when  I  add  that  my  indifference  was  tempo 
rary,  and  that  the  lapse  of  a  few  days  showed  me  that 
my  feelings  were  deadened  for  a  time,  rather  than  finally- 
extinguished. 

Theresa  de  Stolberg  was  alive.  She  had  conceived 
the  resolution  of  seeking  her  lover  in  America.  To  con 
ceal  her  flight,  she  had  caused  the  report  of  her  death 
to  be  propagated.  She  put  herself  under  the  conduct 
of  Bertrancl,  the  faithful  servant  of  Pleyel.  The  packet 
which  the  latter  received  from  the  hands  of  his  servant 
contained  the  tidings  of  her  safe  arrival  at  Boston,  and 
to  meet  her  there  was  the  purpose  of  his  journey. 

This  discovery  had  set  this  man's  character  in  a  new 
light.  I  had  mistaken  the  heroism  of  friendship  for  the 
frenzy  of  love.  He  who  had  gained  my  affections  may 
be  supposed  to  have  previously  entitled  himself  to  my 
reverence ;  but  the  levity  which  had  formerly  charac 
terized  the  behaviour  of  this  man  tended  to  obscure  the 
greatness  of  his  sentiments.  I  did  not  fail  to  remark 
that,  since  this  lady  was  still  alive,  the  voice  in  the 
temple  which  asserted  her  death  must  either  have  been 
intended  to  deceive,  or  have  been  itself  deceived.  The 
latter  supposition  was  inconsistent  with  the  notion  of  a 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  2OJ 

spiritual,  and  the  former  with  that  of  a  benevolent, 
being. 

When  my  disease  abated,  Pleyel  had  forborne  his 
visits,  and  had  lately  set  out  upon  this  journey.  This 
amounted  to  a  proof  that  my  guilt  was  still  believed 
by  him.  I  was  grieved  for  his  errors,  but  trusted  that 
my  vindication  would,  sooner  or  later,  be  made. 

Meanwhile,  tumultuous  thoughts  were  again  set  afloat 
by  a  proposal  made  to  me  by  my  uncle.  He  imagined 
that  new  airs  would  restore  my  languishing  constitution, 
and  a  varied  succession  of  objects  tend  to  repair  the 
shock  which  my  mind  had  received.  For  this  end,  he 
proposed  to  me  to  take  up  my  abode  with  him  in  France 
or  Italy. 

At  a  more  prosperous  period,  this  scheme  would  have 
pleased  for  its  own  sake.  Nowjmy  heart  sickenedjit 
the  prosjj^tjrfjQatuxe^  The  world  of  man  was  shrouded 
in  misery  and  blood,  and  constituted  a  loathsome  spec 
tacle.  I  willingly  closed  my  eyes  in  sleep,  and  regretted 
that  the  respite  it  afforded  me  was  so  short.  I  marked 
with  satisfaction  the  progress  of  decay  in  my  frame, 
and  consented  to  live,  merely  in  the  hope  that  the  course 
of  nature  would  speedily  relieve  me  from  the  burden. 
Nevertheless,  as  he  persisted  in  his  scheme,  I  concurred 
in  it  merely  because  he  was  entitled  to  my  gratitude, 
and  because  my  refusal  gave  him  pain. 

No  sooner  was  he  informed  of  my  consent,  than  he 
told  me  I  must  make  immediate  preparation  to  embark, 
as  the  ship  in  which  he  had  engaged  a  passage  would  be 
ready  to  depart  in  three  days.  -This  expedition  was 
unexpected.  There  was  an  impatience  in  his  manner, 
when  he  urged  the  necessity  of  despatch,  that  excited 
my  surprise.  When  I  questioned  him  as  to  the  cause 
of  this  haste,  he  generally  stated  reasons  which,  at  that 
time,  I  could  not  deny  to  be  plausible,  but  which,  on  the 
review,  appeared  insufficient.  I  suspected  that  the  true 
motives  were  concealed,  and  believed  that  these  motives 
had  some  connection  with  my  brother's  destiny. 

I  now  recollected  that  the  information  respecting 
Wieland  which  had  from  time  to  time  been  imparted  to 
me  was  always  accompanied  with  airs  of  reserve  and 


2O4  WIELAND;    OR, 

mysteriousness.  "What  had  appeared  sufficiently  ex 
plicit  at  the  time  it  was  uttered,  I  now  remembered  to 
have  been  faltering  and  ambiguous.  I  was  resolved  to 
remove  my  doubts  by  visiting  the  unfortunate  man  in 
his  dungeon.  Heretofore  the  idea  of  this  visit  had  oc 
curred  to  me ;  but  the  horrors  of  his  dwelling-place,  his 
wild  yet  placid  physiognomy,  his  neglected  locks,  the 
fetters  which  constrained  his  limbs,  terrible  as  they  were 
in  description,  how  could  I  endure  to  behold  ? 

Now,  however,  that  I  was  preparing  to  take  an  ever 
lasting  farewell  of  my  country,  now  that  an  ocean  was 
henceforth  to  separate  me  from  him,  how  could  I  part 
without  an  interview?  I  would  examine  his  situation 
with  my  own  eyes.  I  would  know  whether  the  repre 
sentations  which  had  been  made  to  me  were  true.  Per 
haps  the  sight  of  the  sister  whom  he  was  wont  to  love 
with  a  passion  more  than  fraternal  might  have  an  auspi 
cious  influence  on  his  malady. 

Having  formed  this  resolution,  I  waited  to  communi 
cate  it  to  Mr.  Cambridge.  I  was  aware  that  without  his 
concurrence  I  could  not  hope  to  carry  it  into  execution, 
and  could  discover  no  objection  to  which  it  was  liable. 
If  I  had  not  been  deceived  as  to  his  condition,  no  incon 
venience  could  arise  from  this  proceeding.  His  consent, 
therefore,  would  be  the  test  of  his  sincerity. 

I  seized  this  opportunity  to  state  my  wishes  on  this 
head.  My  suspicions  were  confirmed  by  the  manner  in 
which  my  request  affected  him.  After  some  pause,  in 
which  his  countenance  betrayed  every  mark  of  per 
plexity,  he  said  to  me,  "Why  would  you  pay  this  visit? 
What  useful  purpose  can  it  serve?" 

"We  are  preparing,"  said  I,  "to  leave  the  country 
forever.  What  kind  of  being  should  I  be  to  leave  be 
hind  me  a  brother  in  calamity  without  even  a  parting 
interview?  Indulge  me  for  three  minutes  in  the  sight 
of  him.  My  heart  will  be  much  easier  after  I  have 
looked  at  him  and  shed  a  few  tears  in  his  presence." 

"I  believe  otherwise.  The  sight  of  him  would  only 
augment  your  distress,  without  contributing,  in  any 
degree,  to  his  benefit." 

"I  know  not  that,"  returned  I.     "  Surely  the  sym- 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  2O$ 

pathy  of  his  sister,  proofs  that  her  tenderness  is  as  lively 
as  ever,  must  be  a  source  of  satisfaction  to  him.  At 
present  he  must  regard  all  mankind  as  his  enemies  and 
calumniators.  His  sister  he,  probably,  conceives  to  par 
take  in  the  general  infatuation,  and  to  join  in  the  cry  of 
abhorrence  that  is  raised  against  him.  To  be  unde 
ceived  in  this  respect,  to  be  assured  that,  however  I  may 
impute  his  conduct  to  delusion,  I  still  retain  all  my 
former  affection  for  his  person  and  veneration  for  the 
purity  of  his  motives,  cannot  but  afford  him  pleasure. 
When  he  hears  that  I  have  left  the  country  without  even 
the  ceremonious  attention  of  a  visit,  what  will  he  think 
of  me?  His  magnanimity  may  hinder  him  from  re 
pining,  but  he  will  surely  consider  my  behaviour  as 
savage  and  unfeeling.  Indeed,  dear  sir,  I  must  pay  this 
visit.  To  embark  with  you  without  paying  it  will  be 
impossible.  It  may  be  of  no  service  to  him,  but  will 
enable  me  to  acquit  myself  of  what  I  cannot  but  esteem 
a  duty.  Besides,"  continued  I,  "if  it  be  a  mere  fit  of 
insanity  that  has  seized  him,  may  not  my  presence 
chance  to  have  a  salutary  influence  ?  The  mere  sight  of 
me,  it  is  not  impossible,  may  rectify  his  perceptions." 

"Ay,"  said  my  uncle,  with  some  eagerness;  "it  is  by 
no  means  impossible  that  your  interview  may  have  that 
effect;  and  for  that  reason,  beyond  all  others,  would  I 
dissuade  you  from  it." 

I  expressed  my  surprise  at  this  declaration.  "Is  it 
not  to  be  desired  that  an  error  so  fatal  as  this  should  be 
rectified?" 

"I  wonder  at  your  question.  Reflect  on  the  conse 
quences  of  this  error.  Has  he  not  destroyed  the  wife 
whom  he  loved,  the  children  whom  he  idolized?  What 
is  it  that  enables  him  to  bear  the  remembrance  but  the 
belief  that  he  acted  as  his  duty  enjoined?  Would  you 
rashly  bereave  him  of  this  belief  ?  Would  you  restore 
him  to  himself,  and  convince  him  that  he  was  instigated 
to  this  dreadful  outrage  by  a  perversion  of  his  organs, 
or  a  delusion  from  hell  ? 

"Now  his  visions  are  joyous  and  elate.  He  conceive? 
himself  to  have  reached  a  loftier  degree  of  virtue  than 
any  other  human  being.  The  merit  of  his  sacrifice  is 


206  WIELAND;    OR, 

only  enhanced,  in  the  eyes  of  superior  beings,  by  the 
detestation  that  pursues  him  here,  and  the  sufferings  to 
which  he  is  condemned.  The  belief  that  even  his  sister 
has  deserted  him,  and  gone  over  to  his  enemies,  adds  to 
his  sublimity  of  feelings,  and  his  confidence  in  divine 
approbation  and  future  recompense. 

"Let  him  be  undeceived  in  this  respect,  and  what 
floods  of  despair  and  of  horror  will  overwhelm  him  ! 
Instead  of  glowing  approbation  and  serene  hope,  will  he 
not  hate  and  torture  himself  ?  Self-violence,  or  a  frenzy 
far  more  savage  and  destructive  than  this,  may  be  ex 
pected  to  succeed.  I  beseech  you,  therefore,  to  relin 
quish  this  scheme.  If  you  calmly  reflect  upon  it,  you 
will  discover  that  your  duty  lies  in  carefully  shunning 
him." 

Mr.  Cambridge's  reasonings  suggested  views  to  my 
understanding  that  had  not  hitherto  occurred.  I  could 
not  but  admit  their  validity ;  but  they  showed  in  a  new 
light  the  depth  of  that  misfortune  in  which  my  brother 
was  plunged.  I  was  silent  and  irresolute. 

Presently  I  considered  that  whether  Wieland  was  a 
maniac,  a  faithful  servant  of  his  God,  the  victim  of 
hellish  illusions,  or  the  dupe  of  human  imposture,  was  by 
no  means  certain.  In  this  state  of  my  mind,  it  became 
me  to  be  silent  during  the  visit  that  I  projected.  This 
visit  should  be  brief;  I  should  be  satisfied  merely  to 
snatch  a  look  at  him.  Admitting  that  a  change  in  his 
opinions  were  not  to  be  desired,  there  was  no  danger, 
from  the  conduct  which  I  should  pursue,  that  this  change 
should  be  wrought. 

But  I  could  not  conquer  my  uncle's  aversion  to  this 
scheme.  Yet  I  persisted ;  and  he  found  that,  to  make 
me  voluntarily  relinquish  it,  it  was  necessary  to  be  more 
explicit  than  he  had  hitherto  been.  He  took  both  my 
hands,  and,  anxiously  examining  my  countenance  as  he 
spoke,  "Clara,"  said  he,  "this  visit  must  not  be  paid. 
We  must  hasten  with  the  utmost  expedition  from  this 
shore.  It  is  folly  to  conceal  the  truth  from  you ;  and, 
since  it  is  only  by  disclosing  the  truth  that  you  can 
be  prevailed  upon  to  lay  aside  this  project,  the  truth 
shall  be  told. 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  2O/ 

"  Oh,  my  dear  girl !"  continued  he,  with  increasing 
energy  in  his  accent,  "  your  brother's  frenzy  is,  indeed, 
stupendous  and  frightful.  The  soul  that  formerly  actu 
ated  his  frame  has  disappeared.  The  same  form  remains ; 
but  the  wise  and  benevolent  Wieland  is  no  more.  A 
fury  that  is  rapacious  of  blood,  that  lifts  his  strength 
almost  above  that  of  mortals,  that  bends  all  his  energies 
to  the  destruction  of  whatever  was  once  dear  to  him, 
possesses  him  wholly. 

"You  must  not  enter  his  dungeon;  his  eyes  will  no 
sooner  be  fixed  upon  you  than  an  exertion  of  his  force 
will  be  made.  He  will  shake  off  his  fetters  in  a  moment 
and  rush  upon  you.  No  interposition  will  then  be  strong 
or  quick  enough  to  save  you. 

"The  phantom  that  has  urged  him  to  the  murder  of 
Catharine  and  her  children  is  not  yet  appeased.  Your 
life,  and  that  of  Plcyel,  are  exacted  from  him  by  this 
imaginary  being.  He  is  eager  to  comply  with  this  de 
mand.  Twice  he  has  escaped  from  his  prison.  The  first 
time,  he  no  sooner  found  himself  at  liberty  than  he 
hasted  to  Pleyel's  house.  It  being  midnight,  the  latter 
was  in  bed.  Wieland  penetrated  unobserved  to  his 
chamber,  and  opened  his  curtain.  Happily,  Pleyel 
awoke  at  the  critical  moment,  and  escaped  the  fury  of 
his  kinsman  by  leaping  from  his  chamber-window  into 
the  court.  Happily  he  reached  the  ground  without 
injury.  Alarms  were  given,  and,  after  diligent  search, 
your  brother  was  found  in  a  chamber  of  your  house, 
whither,  no  doubt,  he  had  sought  you. 

"His  chains,  and  the  watchfulness  of  his  guards,  were 
redoubled ;  but  again,  by  some  miracle,  he  restored  him 
self  to  liberty.  He  was  now  incautiously  apprized  of 
the  place  of  your  abode;  and,  had  not  information  of 
his  escape  been  instantly  given,  your  death  would  have 
been  added  to  the  number  of  his  atrocious  acts. 

"  You  now  see  the  danger  of  your  project.  You  must 
not  only  forbear  to  visit  him,  but,  if  you  would  save  him 
from  the  crime  of  imbruing  his  hands  in  your  blood,  you 
must  leave  the  country.  There  is  no  hope  that  his 
malady  will  end  but  with  his  life,  and  no  precaution  will 


208  WIELAND;    OR, 

insure  your  safety  but  that  of  placing  the  ocean  between 
you. 

"I  confess  I  came  over  with  an  intention  to  reside 
among  you ;  but  these  disasters  have  changed  my  views. 
Your  own  safety  and  my  happiness  require  that  you 
should  accompany  me  in  my  return,  and  I  entreat  you 
to  give  your  cheerful  concurrence  to  this  measure." 

After  these  representations  from  my  uncle,  it  was 
impossible  to  retain  my  purpose.  I  readily  consented 
to  seclude  myself  from  Wieland's  presence.  I  likewise 
acquiesced  in  the  proposal  to  go  to  Europe ;  not  that  I 
ever  expected  to  arrive  there,  but  because,  since  my 
principles  forbade  me  to  assail  my  own  life,  change  had 
some  tendency  to  make  supportable  the  few  days  which 
disease  should  spare  to  me. 

What  a  tale  had  thus  been  unfolded  !  I  was  hunted 
to  death,  not  by  one  whom  my  misconduct  had  exaspe 
rated,  who  was  conscious  of  illicit  motives,  and  who 
sought  his  end  by  circumvention  and  surprise ;  but  by 
one  who  deemed  himself  commissioned  for  this  act  by 
heaven ;  who  regarded  this  career  of  horror  as  the  last 
refinement  of  virtue ;  whose  implacability  was  propor 
tioned  to  the  reverence  and  love  which  he  felt  for  me, 
and  who  was  inaccessible  to  the  fear  of  punishment  and 
ignominy. 

In  vain  should  I  endeavour  to  stay  his  hand  by  urging 
the  claims  of  a  sister  or  friend :  these  were  his  only 
reasons  for  pursuing  my  destruction.  Had  I  been  a 
stranger  to  his  blood ;  had  I  been  the  most  worthless  of 
human  kind  \  my  safety  had  not  been  endangered. 

"  Surely,"  said  I,  "-my  fate  is  without  example.  The 
frenzy  which  is  charged  upon  my  brother  must  belong  to 
myself.  My  foe  is  manacled  and  guarded ;  but  I  derive 
no  security  from  these  restraints.  I  live  not  in  a  com 
munity  of  savages ;  yet,  whether  I  sit  or  walk,  go  into 
crowds  or  hide  myself  in  solitude,  my  life  is  marked  for 
a  prey  to  inhuman  violence ;  I  am  in  perpetual  danger 
of  perishing  ;  of  perishing  under  the  grasp  of  a  brother." 

I  recollected  the  omens  of  this  destiny ;  I  remembered 
the  gulf  to  which  my  brother's  invitation  had  conducted 
me ;  I  remembered  that,  when  on  the  brink  of  danger, 


THE   TRANSFORMATION.  2O$ 

the  author  of  my  peril  was  depicted  by  iny  fears  in  his 
form.  Thus  realized  were  the  creatures  of  prophetic 
sleep  and  of  wakeful  terror ! 

These  images  were  unavoidably  connected  with  that 
of  Carwin.  In  this  paroxysm  of  distress,  my  attention 
fastened  on  him  as  the  grand  deceiver ;  the  author  of 
this  black  conspiracy;  the  intelligence  that  governed  in 
this  storm. 

Some  relief  is  afforded  in  the  midst  of  suffering,  when 
its  author  is  discovered  or  imagined,  and  an  object  found 
on  which  we  may  pour  out  our  indignation  and  our  ven 
geance.  I  ran  over  the  events  that  had  taken  place 
since  ftie  origin  of  our  intercourse  with  him,  and  re 
flected  on  the  tenor  of  that  description  which  was 
received  from  Ludloe.  Mixed  up  with  notions  of  super 
natural  agency  were  the  vehement  suspicions  which  I 
entertained,  that  Carwin  was  the  enemy  whose  machina 
tions  had  destroyed  us. 

I  thirsted  for  knowledge  and  for  vengeance.  I  re 
garded  my  hasty  departure  with  reluctance,  since  it 
would  remove  me  from  the  means  by  which  this  know 
ledge  might  be  obtained  and  this  vengeance  gratified. 
This  departure  was  to  take  place  in  two  days.  At  the 
end  of  two  days  I  was  to  bid  an  eternal  adieu  to  my 
native  country.  Should  I  not  pay  a  parting  visit  to  the 
scene  of  these  disasters  ?  Should  I  not  bedew  with  my 
tears  the  graves  of  my  sister  and  her  children  ?  Should 
I  not  explore  their  desolate  habitation,  and  gather  from 
the  sight  of  its  walls  and  furniture  food  for  my  eternal 
melancholy  ? 

This  suggestion  was  succeeded  by  a  secret  shuddering. 
Some  disastrous  influence  appeared  to  overhang  the 
scene.  How  many  memorials  should  I  meet  with  serv 
ing  to  recall  the  images  of  those  I  had  lost ! 

I  was  tempted  to  relinquish  my  design,  when  it  oc 
curred  to  me  that  I  had  left  among  my  papers  a_journal 
of  tra,nanp.t.inna  in  fthQvt-hajijl,     I  was  employed  in  this 
manuscript  on  that  night  when  Pleyel's  incautious  cu 
riosity  tempted  him  to  look  over  my  shoulder.     I  was    j 
then  recording  my  adventure  in  the  recess,  an  imperfect   / 
sight  of  which  led  him  into  such  fatal  errors. 
14 


2IO  WIELAND. 

I  had  regulated  the  disposition  of  all  my  property. 
This  manuscript,  however,  which  contained  the  most 
secret  transactions  of  my  life,  I  was  desirous  of  destroy 
ing.  For  this  end  I  must  return  to  my  house,  and  this 
I  immediately  determined  to  do. 

I  was  not  willing  to  expose  myself  to  opposition  from 
my  friends,  by  mentioning  my  design ;  I  therefore  be 
spoke  the  use  of  Mr.  Hallet's  chaise,  under  pretence  of 
enjoying  an  airing,  as  the  day  was  remarkably  bright. 

This  request  was  gladly  complied  with,  and  I  directed 
the  servant  to  conduct  me  to  Mettingen.  I  dismissed 
him  at  the  gate,  intending  to  use,  in  returning,  a  carriage 
belonging  to  my  brother. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  inhabitants  of  the  HUT  received  me  with  a  mix 
ture  of  joy  and  surprise.  Their  homely  welcome,  and 
their  artless  sympathy,  were  grateful  to  my  feelings.  In 
the  midst  of  their  inquiries  as  to  my  health,  they  avoided 
all  allusions  to  the  source  of  my  malady.  They  were 
honest  creatures,  and  I  loved  them  well.  I  participated 
in  the  tears  which  they  shed  when  I  mentioned  to  them 
my  speedy  departure  for  Europe,  and  promised  to  ac 
quaint  them  with  my  welfare  during  my  long  absence. 

They  expressed  great  surprise  when  I  informed  them 
of  my  intention  to  visit  my  cottage.  Alarm  and  fore 
boding  overspread  their  features,  and  they  attempted  to 
dissuade  me  from  visiting  a  house  which  they  firmly  be 
lieved  to  be  haunted  by  a  thousand  ghostly  apparitions. 

These  apprehensions,  however,  had  no  power  over  my 
conduct.  I  took  an  irregular  path  which  led  me  to  my 
own  house.  All  was  vacant  and  forlorn.  A  small  en 
closure  near  which  the  path  led  was  the  burying-ground 
belonging  to  the  family.  This  I  was  obliged  to  pass. 
Once  I  had  intended  to  enter  it,  and  ponder  on  the  em 
blems  and  inscriptions  which  my  uncle  had  caused  to  be 
made  on  the  tombs  of  Catharine  and  her  children ;  but 
now  my  heart  faltered  as  I  approached,  and  I  hastened 
forward  that  distance  might  conceal  it  from  my  view. 

When  I  approached  the  recess,  my  heart  again  sunk. 
I  averted  my  eyes,  and  left  it  behind  me  as  quickly  as 
possible.  Silence  reigned  through  my  habitation,  and 
a  darkness  which  closed  doors  and  shutters  produced. 
Every  object  was  connected  with  mine  or  my  brother's 
history.  I  passed  the  entry,  mounted  the  stair,  and  un 
locked  the  door  of  my  chamber.  It  was  with  difficulty 

211 


212  WIELAND;   OR, 

that  I  curbed  my  fancy  and  smothered  my  fears.  Slight 
movements  and  casual  sounds  were  transformed  into 
beckoning  shadows  and  calling  shapes. 

I  proceeded  to  the  closet.  I  opened  and  looked  round 
it  with  fearfulness.  All  things  were  in  their  accustomed 
order.  I  sought  and  found  the  manuscript  where  I  was 
used  to  deposit  it.  This  being  secured,  there  was  no 
thing  to  detain  me;  yet  I  stood  and  contemplated  a 
while  the  furniture  and  walls  of  my  chamber.  I  remem 
bered  how  long  this  apartment  had  been  a  sweet  and 
tranquil  asylum ;  I  compared  its  former  state  with  its 
present  dreariness,  and  reflected  that  I  now  beheld  it  for 
the  last  time. 

Here  it  was  that  the  incomprehensible  behaviour  of 
Carwin  was  witnessed ;  this  the  stage  on  which  that 
enemy  of  man  showed  himself  for  a  moment  unmasked. 
Here  the  menaces  of  murder  were  wafted  to  my  ear ; 
and  here  these  menaces  were  executed. 

These  thoughts  had  a  tendency  to  take  from  me  my 
self-command.  My  feeble  limbs  refused  to  support  me, 
and  I  sunk  upon  a  chair.  Incoherent  and  half-articulate 
exclamations  escaped  my  lips.  The  name  of  Carwin 
was  uttered,  and  eternal  woes — woes  like  that  which  his 
malice  had  entailed  upon  us — were  heaped  upon  him.  I 
invoked  all-seeing  heaven  to  drag  to  light  and  punish 
this  betrayer,  and  accused  its  providence  for  having  thus 
long  delayed  the  retribution  that  was  due  to  so  enormous 
a  guilt. 

I  have  said  that  the  window-shutters  were  closed.  A 
feeble  light,  however,  found  entrance  through  the  cre 
vices.  A  small  window  illuminated  the  closet,  and,  the 
door  being  closed,  a  dim  ray  streamed  through  the  key- 
,  hole.  A  kind  of  twilight  was  thus  created,  sufficient  for 
the  purposes  of  vision,  but,  at  the  same  time,  involving 
.  all  minuter  objects  in  obscurity. 

This  darkness  suited  the  colour  of  my  thoughts.  I 
sickened  at  the  remembrance  of  the  past.  The  prospect 
of  the  future  excited  my  loathing.  I  muttered,  in  a  low 
voice,  "  Why  should  I  live  longer  ?  Why  should  I  drag 
a  miserable  being  ?  All  for  whom  I  ought  to  live  have 
perished.  Am  I  not  myself  hunted  to  death?" 


THE   TRANSFORMATION.  213 

At  that  moment  my  despair  suddenly  became  vigorous. 
My  nerves  were  no  longer  unstrung.  My  powers,  that 
had  long  been  deadened,  were  revived.  My  bosom 
swelled  with  a  sudden  energy,  and  the  conviction  darted 
through  my  mind,  that  to  end  my  torments  was,  at  once, 
practicable  and  wise. 

I  knew  how  to  find  way  to  the  recesses  of  life.  I 
could  use  a  lancet  with  some  skill,  and  could  distinguish 
between  vein  and  artery.  By  piercing  deep  into  the 
latter,  I  should  shun  the  evils  which  the  future  had  in 
store  for  me,  and  take  refuge  from  my  woes  in  quiet 
death. 

I  started  on  my  feet,  for  my  feebleness  was  gone,  and 
hasted  to  the  closet.  A  lancet  and  other  small  instru 
ments  were  preserved  in  a  case  which  I  had  deposited 
here.  Inattentive  as  I  was  to  foreign  considerations, 
my  ears  were  still  open  to  any  sound  of  mysterious 
import  that  should  occur.  I  thought  I  heard  a  step  in 
the  entry.  My  purpose  was  suspended,  and  I  cast  an 
eager  glance  at  my  chamber  door,-  which  was  open.  No 
one  appeared,  unless  the  shadow  which  I  discerned  upon 
the  floor  was  the  outline  of  a  man.  If  it  were,  I  was 
authorized  to  suspect  that  some  one  was  posted  close 
to  the  entrance,  who  possibly  had  overheard  my  excla 
mations. 

My  teeth  chattered,  and  a  wild  confusion  took  the 
place  of  my  momentary  calm.  Thus  it  was  when  a  ter 
rific  visage  had  disclosed  itself  on  a  former  night.  Thus 
it  was  when  the  evil  destiny  of  Wieland  assumed  the 
lineaments  of  something  human.  What  horrid  appari 
tion  was  preparing  to  blast  ray  sight  ? 

Still  I  listened  and  gazed.  Not  long,  for  the  shadow 
moved ;  a  foot,  unshapely  and  huge,  was  thrust  forward ; 
a  form  advanced  from  its  concealment,  and  stalked  into 
the  room.  It  was  Carwin  ! 

While  I  had  breath,  I  shrieked.  While  I  had  power 
over  my  muscles,  I  motioned  with  my  hand  that  he 
should  vanish.  My  exertions  could  not  last  long:  I 
sunk  into  a  fit. 

Oh  that  this  grateful  oblivion  had  lasted  forever ! 
Too  quickly  I  recovered  my  senses.  The  power  of  dis- 


214  WIELAND;    OR, 

tinct  vision  -was  no  sooner  restored  to  me,  than  this 
hateful  form  again  presented  itself,  and  I  once  more 
relapsed. 

A  second  time,  untoward  nature  recalled  me  from  the 
sleep  of  death.  I  found  myself  stretched  upon  the  bed. 
When  I  had  power  to  look  up,  I  remembered  only  that 
I  had  cause  to  fear.  My  distempered  fancy  fashioned 
to  itself  no  distinguishable  image.  I  threw  a  languid 
glance  round  me:  once  more  my  eyes  lighted  upon 
Carwin. 

He  was  seated  on  the  floor,  his  back  rested  against 
the  wall;  his  knees  were  drawn  up,  and  his  face  was 
buried  in  his  hands.  That  his  station  was  at  some  dis 
tance,  that  his  attitude  was  not  menacing,  that  his  omi 
nous  visage  was  concealed,  may  account  for  my  now 
escaping  a  shock  violent  as  those  which  were  past.  I 
withdrew  my  eyes,  but  was  not  again  deserted  by  my 
senses. 

On  perceiving  that  I  had  recovered  my  sensibility,  he 
lifted  his  head.  This  motion  attracted  my  attention. 
His  countenance  was  mild,  but  sorrow  and  astonishment 
sat  upon  his  features.  I  averted  my  eyes  and  feebly 
exclaimed,  "  Oh,  fly  ! — fly  far  and  forever  ! — I  cannot 
behold  you  and  live  !" 

He  did  not  rise  upon  his  feet,  but  clasped  his  hands, 
and  said,  in  a  tone  of  deprecation,  "I  will  fly.  I  am 
become  a  fiend,  the  sight  of  whom  destroys.  Yet  tell 
me  my  offence  !  You  have  linked  curses  with  my  name ; 
you  ascribe  to  me  a  malice  monstrous  and  infernal.  I 
look  around  :  all  is  loneliness  and  desert !  This  house 
and  your  brother's  are  solitary  and  dismantled !  You 
die  away  at  the  sight  of  me !  My  fear  whispers  that 
some  deed  of  horror  has  been  perpetrated ;  that  I  am 
the  undesigning  cause." 

What  language  was  this  ?  Had  he  not  avowed  him 
self  a  ravisher?  Had  not  this  chamber  witnessed  his 
atrocious  purposes  ?  I  besought  him  with  new  vehe 
mence  to  go. 

He  lifted  his  eyes : — "  Great  heaven  !  what  have  I 
done  ?  I  think  I  know  the  extent  of  my  offences.  I 
have  acted,  but  my  actions  have  possibly  effected  more 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  21  £ 

than  I  designed.  This  fear  has  brought  me  back  from 
my  retreat.  I  come  to  repair  the  evil  of  which  my  rash 
ness  was  the  cause,  and  to  prevent  more  evil.  I  come 
to  confess  my  errors." 

"Wretch!"  I  cried,  when  my  suffocating  emotions 
would  permit  me  to  speak,  "the  ghosts  of  my  sister  and 
her  children, — do  they  not  rise  to  accuse  thee  ?  Who 
was  it  that  blasted  the  intellect  of  Wieland?  Who 
was  it  that  urged  him  to  fury  and  guided  him  to  mur 
der  ?  Who,  but  thou  and  the  devil,  with  whom  thou  art 
confederated?" 

At  these  words  a  new  spirit  pervaded  his  countenance. 
His  eyes  once  more  appealed  to  heaven.  "If  I  have 
memory — if  I  have  being — I  am  innocent.  I  intended 
no  ill ;  but  my  folly,  indirectly  and  remotely,  may  have 
caused  it.  But  what  words  are  these  ?  Your  brother 
lunatic  !  His  children  dead  !" 

What  should  I  infer  from  this  deportment  ?  Was  the 
ignorance  which  these  words  implied  real  or  pretended  ? 
Yet  how  could  I  imagine  a  mere  human  agency  in  these 
events  ?  But,  if  the  influence  was  preternatural  or  ma 
niacal  in  my  brother's  case,  they  must  be  equally  so  in 
my  own.  Then  I  remembered  that  the  voice  exerted 
was  to  save  me  from  Carwin's  attempts.  These  ideas 
tended  to  abate  my  abhorrence  of  this  man,  and  to  de 
tect  the  absurdity  of  my  accusations. 

"Alas!"  said  I,  "I  have  no  one  to  accuse.  Leave 
me  to  my  fate.  Fly  from  a  scene  stained  with  cruelty, 
devoted  to  despair." 

Carwin  stood  for  a  time  musing  and  mournful.  At 
length  he  said,  "  What  has  happened  ?  I  came  to  ex 
piate  my  crimes :  let  me  know  them  in  their  full  extent. 
I  have  horrible  forebodings  !  What  has  happened?" 

I  was  silent ;  but,  recollecting  the  intimation  given  by 
this  man  when  he  was  detected  in  my  closet,  which  im 
plied  some  knowledge  of  that  power  which  interfered  in 
my  favour,  I  eagerly  inquired,  "What  was  that  voice 
which  called  upon  me  to  hold  when  I  attempted  to  open 
the  closet?  What  face  was  that  which  I  saw  at  the 
bottom  of  the  stairs?  Answer  me  truly." 

"I  came  to  confess  the  truth.     Your  allusions  are 


2l6  WIELAND;    OR, 

horrible  and  strange.  Perhaps  I  have  but  faint  concep 
tions  of  the  evils  which  my  infatuation  has  produced ; 
but  what  remains  I  will  perform.  It  was  my  'voice  that 
you  heard  !  It  was  my  face  that  you  saw  !" 

For  a  moment  I  doubted  whether  my  remembrance 
of  events  were  not  confused.  How  could  he  be  at  once 
stationed  at  my  shoulder  and  shut  up  in  my  closet  ? 
How  could  he  stand  near  me  and  yet  be  invisible  ? 
But  if  Carwin's  were  the  thrilling  voice  and  the  fiery 
image  which  I  had  heard  and  seen,  then  was  he  the 
prompter  of  my  brother,  and  the  author  of  these  dismal 


outrages. 


Once  more  I  averted  my  eyes  and  struggled  for 
speech: — " Begone!  thou  man  of  mischief!  Remorse 
less  and  implacable  miscreant,  begone  !" 

"I  will  obey,"  said  he,  in  a  disconsolate  voice;  "yet, 
wretch  as  I  am,  am  I  unworthy  to  repair  the  evils  that 
I  have  committed?  I  came  as  a  repentant  criminal. 
It  is  you  whom  I  have  injured,  and  at  your  bar  am  I 
willing  to  appear  and  confess  and  expiate  my  crimes. 
I  have  deceived  you ;  I  have  sported  with  your  terrors ; 
I  have  plotted  to  destroy  your  reputation.  I  come  now 
to  remove  your  terrors  ;  to  set  you  beyond  the  reach  of 
similar  fears ;  to  rebuild  your  fame  as  far  as  I  am  able. 

"This  is  the  amount  of  my  guilt,  and  this  the  fruit 
of  my  remorse.  Will  you  not  hear  me  ?  Listen  to  my 
confession,  and  then  denounce  punishment.  All  I  ask 
is  a  patient  audience." 

"What!"  I  replied ;  "was  not  thine  the  voice  that 
commanded  my  brother  to  imbrue  his  hands  in  the  blood 
of  his  children  ? — to  strangle  that  angel  of  sweetness, 
his  wife  ?  Has  he  not  vowed  my  death,  and  the  death 
of  Pleyel,  at  thy  bidding  ?  Hast  thou  not  made  him  the 
butcher  of  his  family  ? — changed  him  who  was  the  glory 
of  his  species  into  worse  than  brute? — robbed  him  of 
reason  and  consigned  the  rest  of  his  days  to  fetters  and 
stripes  ?" 

Carwin's  eyes  glared  and  his  limbs  were  petrified  at 
this  intelligence.  No  words  were  requisite  to  prove  him 
guiltless  of  these  enormities  :  at  the  time,  however,  I  was 
nearly  insensible  to  these  exculpatory  tokens.  He  walked 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  21? 

to  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  and,  having  recovered 
some  degree  of  composure,  he  spoke : — 

"  I  am  not  this  villain.     I  have  slain  no  one  ;  I  have 
prompted  none  to  slay ;  I  have  handled  a  tool  of  wonder 
ful  efficacy  without  malignant  intentions,  hut  without  1 
caution.    Ample  will  be  the  punishment  of  my  temerity, 
if  my  conduct  has  contributed  to  this  evil."    He  paused. 

I  likewise  was  silent.  I  struggled  to  command  my 
self  so  far  as  to  listen  to  the  tale  which  he  should  tell. 
Observing  this,  he  continued: — 

"You  are  not  apprized  of  the  existence  of  a  power 
which  I  possess.  I  know  not  by  what  name  to  call  it.* 
It  enables  me  to  mimic  exactly  the  voice  of  another, 
and  to  modify  the  sound  so  that  it  shall  appear  to  come 
from  what  quarter  and  be  uttered  at  what  distance  I 
please. 

"I  know  not  that  every  one  possesses  this  power. 
Perhaps,  though  a  casual  position  of  my  organs  in  my 
youth  showed  me  that  I  possessed  it,  it  is  an  art  which 
may  be  taught  to  all.  Would  to  God  I  had  died  un 
knowing  of  the  secret !  It  has  produced  nothing  but 
degradation  and  calamity. 

"For  a  time  the  possession  of  so  potent  and  stupendous 

*  Biloquium,  or  ventrilocution.  Sound  is  varied  according  to  the 
variations  of  direction  and  distance.  The  art  of  the  ventriloquist  con 
sists  in  modifying  his  voice  according  to  all  these  variations,  without 
changing  his  place.  See  the  work  of  the  Abbe"  de  la  Chappclle,  in 
which  are  accurately  recorded  the  pei'formances  of  one  of  these 
artists,  and  some  ingenious  though  unsatisfactory  speculations  are 
given  on  the  means  by  which  the  effects  are  produced.  This  power 
is,  perhaps,  given  by  nature,  but  is  doubtless  improvable,  if  not  ac- 
quirable,  by  art.  It  may,  possibly,  consist  in  an  unusual  flexibility 
or  extension  of  the  bottom  of  the  tongue  and  the  uvula.  That  speech 
is  producible  by  these  alone  must  be  granted,  since  anatomists  men 
tion  two  instances  of  persons  speaking  without  a  tongue.  In  one 
case  the  organ  was  originally  wanting,  but  its  place  was  supplied  by 
a  small  tubercle,  and  the  uvula  was  perfect.  In  the  other  the  tongue 
was  destroyed  by  disease,  but  probably  a  small  part  of  it  remained. 

This  power  is  difficult  to  explain,  but  the  fact  is  undeniable.  Ex 
perience  shows  that  the  human  voice  can  imitate  the  voice  of  all  men 
and  of  all  inferior  animals.  The  sound  of  musical  instruments,  and 
even  noises  from  the  contact  of  inanimate  substances,  have  been 
accurately  imitated.  The  mimicry  of  animals  is  notorious  ;  and  Dr. 
Barney  ("Musical  Travels")  mentions  one  who  imitated  a  flute  and 
violin,  so  as  to  deceive  even  his  ears. 


2l8  WIELAND;    OR, 

an  endowment  elated  me  with  pride.  Unfortified  by 
principle,  subjected  to  poverty,  stimulated  by  headlong 
passions,  I  made  this  powerful  engine  subservient  to  the 
supply  of  my  wants  and  the  gratification  of  my  vanity. 
I  shall  not  mention  how  diligently  I  cultivated  this  gift, 
which  seemed  capable  of  unlimited  improvement;  nor 
detail  the  various  occasions  on  which  it  was  successfully 
exerted  to  lead  superstition,  conquer  avarice,  or  excite 
awe. 

"I  left  America,  which  is  my  native  soil,  in  my  youth. 
I  have  been  engaged  in  various  scenes  of  life,  in  which 
my  peculiar  talent  has  been  exercised  with  more  or  less 
success.  I  was  finally  betrayed,  by  one  who  called  him 
self  my  friend,  into  acts  which  cannot  be  justified,  though 
they  are  susceptible  of  apology. 

"The  perfidy  of  this  man  compelled  me  to  withdraw 
from  Europe.  I  returned  to  my  native  country,  uncertain 
whether  silence  and  obscurity  would  save  me  from  his 
malice.  I  resided  in  the  purlieus  of  the  city.  I  put  on 
the  garb  and  assumed  the  manners  of  a  clown. 

"My  chief  recreation  was  walking.  My  principal 
haunts  were  the  lawns  and  gardens  of  Mettingen.  In 
this  delightful  region  the  luxuriances  of  nature  had  been 
chastened  by  judicious  art,  and  each  successive  con 
templation  unfolded  new  enchantments. 

"I  was  studious  of  seclusion;  I  was  satiated  with  the 
intercourse  of  mankind,  and  discretion  required  me  to 
shun  their  intercourse.  For  these  reasons  I  long  avoided 
the  observation  of  your  family,  and  chiefly  visited  these 
precincts  at  night. 

"I  was  never  weary  of  admiring  the  position  and 
ornaments  of  the  temple.  Many  a  night  have  I  passed 
under  its  roof,  revolving  no  pleasing  meditations.  When, 
in  my  frequent  rambles,  I  perceived  this  apartment  was 
occupied,  I  gave  a  different  direction  to  my  steps.  One 
evening,  when  a  shower  had  just  passed,  judging  by  the 
silence  that  na  one  was  within,  I  ascended  to  this  building. 
Glancing  carelessly  round,  I  perceived  an  open  letter  on 
the  pedestal.  To  read  it  was  doubtless  an  offence  against 
politeness.  Of  this  offence,  however,  I  was  guilty. 

"  Scarcely  had  I  gone  half  through  when  I  was  alarmed 


THE    TRANSFORMATION'. 

by  the  approach  of  your  brother.  To  scramble  down 
the  cliff  on  the  opposite  side  was  impracticable.  I  was 
unprepared  to  meet  a  stranger.  Besides  the  awkward 
ness  attending  such  an  interview  in  these  circumstances, 
concealment  was  necessary  to  my  safety.  A  thousand 
times  had  I  vowed  never  again  to  employ  the  dangerous 
talent  which  I  possessed ;  but  such  was  the  force  of  habit 
and  the  influence  of  present  convenience,  that  I  used  this 
method  of  arresting  his  progress  and  leading  him  back 
to  the  house,  with  his  errand,  whatever  it  was,  un 
performed.  I  had  often  caught  parts,  from  my  station 
below,  of  your  conversation  in  this  place,  and  was  well 
acquainted  with  the  voice  of  your  sister. 

"  Some  weeks  after  this  I  was  again  quietly  seated  in 
this  recess.  The  lateness  of  the  hour  secured  me,  as  I 
thought,  from  all  interruption.  In  this,  however,  I  was 
mistaken ;  for  Wieland  and  Pleyel,  as  I  judged  by  their 
voices,  earnest  in  dispute,  ascended  the  hill. 

"I  was  not  sensible  that  any  inconvenience  could 
possibly  have  flowed  from  my  former  exertion ;  yet  it  was 
followed  with  compunction,  because  it  was  a  deviation 
from  a  path  which  I  had  assigned  to  myself.  Now  my 
aversion  to  this  means  of  escape  was  enforced  by  an  un 
authorized  curiosity,  and  by  the  knowledge  of  a  bushy 
hollow  on  the  edge  of  the  hill,  where  I  should  be  safe 
from  discovery.  Into  this  hollow  I  thrust  myself. 

"  The  propriety  of  removal  to  Europe  was  the  question 
eagerly  discussed.  Pleyel  intimated  that  his  anxiety  to 
go  was  augmented  by  the  silence  of  Theresa  de  Stolberg. 
The  temptation  to  interfere  in  this  dispute  was  irresist 
ible.  In  vain  I  contended  with  inveterate  habits.  I 
disguised  to  myself  the  impropriety  of  my  conduct,  by 
recollecting  the  benefits  which  it  might  produce.  Pleyel's 
proposal  was  unwise,  yet  it  was  enforced  with  plausible 
arguments  and  indefatigable  zeal.  Your  brother  might 
be  puzzled  and  wearied,  but  could  not  be  convinced.  I 
conceived  that  to  terminate  the  controversy  in  favour  of 
the  latter  was  conferring  a  benefit  on  all  parties.  For 
this  end  I  profited  by  an  opening  in  the  conversation, 
and  assured  them  of  Catharine's  irreconcilable  aversion 
to  the  scheme,  and  of  the  death  of  the  Saxon  baroness. 


220  WIELAND;    OR, 

The  latter  event  was  merely  a  conjecture,  but  rendered 
extremely  probable  by  Pleyel's  representations.  My 
purpose,  you  need  not  be  told,  was  effected. 

"  My  passion  for  mystery,  and  a  species  of  imposture, 
which  I  deemed  harmless,  was  thus  awakened  afresh. 
This  second  lapse  into  error  made  my  recovery  more 
difficult.  I  cannot  convey  to  you  an  adequate  idea  of 
the  kind  of  gratification  which  I  derived  from  these  ex 
ploits  ;  yet  I  meditated  nothing.  My  views  were  bounded 
to  the  passing  moment,  and  commonly  suggested  by  the 
momentary  exigence. 

"  I  must  not  conceal  any  thing.  Your  principles  teach 
you  to  abhor  a  voluptuous  temper ;  but,  with  whatever 
reluctance,  I  acknowledge  this  temper  to  be  mine.  You 
imagine  your  servant  Judith  to  be  innocent  as  well  as 
beautiful ;  but  you  took  her  from  a  family  where  hypo 
crisy,  as  well  as  licentiousness,  was  wrought  into  a  system. 
My  attention  was  captivated  by  her  charms,  and  her 
principles  were  easily  seen  to  be  flexible. 

"  Deem  me  not  capable  of  the  iniquity  of  seduction. 
Your  servant  is  not  destitute  of  feminine  and  virtuous 
qualities;  but  she  was  taught  that  the  best  use  of  her 
charms  consists  in  the  sale  of  them.  My  nocturnal  visits 
to  Mettingen  were  now  prompted  by  a  double  view,  and 
my  correspondence  with  your  servant  gave  me,  at  all 
times,  access  to  your  house. 

"  The  second  night  after  our  interview,  so  brief  and  so 
little  foreseen  by  either  of  us,  some  demon  of  mischief 
seized  me.  According  to  my  companion's  report,  your 
perfections  were  little  less  than  divine.  Her  uncouth 
but  copious  narratives  converted  you  into  an  object  of 
worship.  She  chiefly  dwelt  upon  your  courage,  because 
she  herself  was  deficient  in  that  quality.  You  held 
apparitions  and  goblins  in  contempt.  You  took  no  pre 
cautions  against  robbers.  You  were  just  as  tranquil  and 
secure  in  this  lonely  dwelling  as  if  you  were  in  the  midst 
of  a  crowd. 

"Hence  a  vague  project  occurred  to  me  to  put  this 
courage  to  the  test.  A  woman  capable  of  recollection 
in  danger,  of  warding  off  groundless  panics,  of  discern 
ing  the  true  mode  of  proceeding  and  profiting  by  her 


THE   TRANSFORMATION.  221 

best  resources,  is  a  prodigy.  I  was  desirous  of  ascertain 
ing  whether  you  were  such  a  one. 

"My  expedient  was  obvious  and  simple.  I  was  to 
counterfeit  a  murderous  dialogue ;  but  this  was  to  be  so 
conducted  that  another,  and  not  yourself,  should  appear 
to  be  the  object.  I  was  not  aware  of  the  possibility  that 
you  should  appropriate  these  menaces  to  yourself.  Had 
you  been  still  and  listened,  you  would  have  heard  the 
struggles  and  prayers  of  the  victim,  who  would  likewise 
have  appeared  to  be  shut  up  in  the  closet,  and  whose 
voice  would  have  been  Judith's.  This  scene  would  have 
been  an  appeal  to  your  compassion ;  and  the  proof  of 
cowardice  or  courage  which  I  expected  from  you  would 
have  been  your  remaining  inactive  in  your  bed,  or  your 
entering  the  closet  with  a  view  to  assist  the  sufferer. 
Some  instances  which  Judith  related  of  your  fearlessness 
and  promptitude  made  me  adopt  the  latter  supposition 
with  some  degree  of  confidence. 

"By  the  girl's  direction  I  found  a  ladder,  and  mounted 
to  your  closet  window.  This  is  scarcely  large  enough 
to  admit  the  head,  but  it  answered  my  purpose  too  well. 

"I  cannot  express  my  confusion  and  surprise  at  your 
abrupt  and  precipitate  flight.  I  hastily  removed  the 
ladder;  and,  after  some  pause,  curiosity  and  doubts  of 
your  safety  induced  me  to  follow  you.  I  found  you 
stretched  on  the  turf  before  your  brother's  door  without 
sense  or  motion.  I  felt  the  deepest  regret  at  this  unlooked- 
for  consequence  of  my  scheme.  I  knew  not  what  to  do 
to  procure  you  relief.  The  idea  of  awakening  the  family 
naturally  presented  itself.  This  emergency  was  critical, 
and  there  was  no  time  to  deliberate.  It  was  a  sudden 
thought  that  occurred.  I  put  my  lips  to  the  keyhole, 
and  sounded  an  alarm  which  effectually  roused  the 
sleepers.  My  organs  were  naturally  forcible,  and  had 
been  improved  by  long  and  assiduous  exercise. 

"  Long  and  bitterly  did  I  repent  of  my  scheme.  I  was 
somewhat  consoled  by  reflecting  that  my  purpose  had 
not  been  evil,  and  renewed  my  fruitless  vows  never  to 
attempt  such  dangerous  experiments.  For  some  time  I 
adhered,  with  laudable  forbearance,  to  this  resolution. 

"My  life  has  been  a  life  of  hardship  and  exposure. 


222  WIELAND;    OR, 

In  the  summer  I  prefer  to  make  my  bed  of  the  smooth 
turf,  or,  at  most,  the  shelter  of  a  summer-house  suffices. 
In  all  my  rambles  I  never  found  a  spot  in  which  so 
many  picturesque  beauties  and  rural  delights  were  as 
sembled  as  at  Mettingen.  No  corner  of  your  little  do 
main  unites  fragrance  and  secrecy  in  so  perfect  a  degree 
as  the  recess  in  the  bank.  The  odour  of  its  leaves,  the 
coolness  of  its  shade,  and  the  music  of  its  waterfall,  had 
early  attracted  my  attention.  Here  my  sadness  was 
converted  into  peaceful  melancholy;  here  my  slumbers 
were  sound,  and  my  pleasures  enhanced. 

"As  most  free  from  interruption,  I  chose  this  as  the 
scene  of  my  midnight  interviews  with  Judith.  One 
evening,  as  the  sun  declined,  I  was  seated  here,  when  I 
was  alarmed  by  your  approach.  It  was  with  difficulty 
that  I  effected  my  escape  unnoticed  by  you. 

"At  the  customary  hour  I  returned  to  your  habita 
tion,  and  was  made  acquainted  by  Judith  with  your  un 
usual  absence.  I  half  suspected  the  true  cause,  and  felt 
uneasiness  at  the  danger  there  was  that  I  should  be  de 
prived  of  my  retreat,  or,  at  least,  interrupted  in  the 
possession  of  it.  The  girl  likewise  informed  me  that, 
among  your  other  singularities,  it  was  not  uncommon  for 
you  to  leave  your  bed  and  walk  forth  for  the  sake  of 
night-airs  and  starlight  contemplations. 

"  I  desired  to  prevent  this  inconvenience.  I  found  you 
easily  swayed  by  fear.  I  was  influenced  in  my  choice 
of  means  by  the  facility  and  certainty  of  that  to  which  I 
had  been  accustomed.  All  that  I  foresaw  was,  that,  in 
future,  this  spot  would  be  cautiously  shunned  by  you. 

"I  entered  the  recess  with  the  utmost  caution,  and 
discovered,  by  your  breathings,  in  what  condition  you 
were.  The  unexpected  interpretation  which  you  placed 
upon  my  former  proceeding  suggested  my  conduct  on 
the  present  occasion.  The  mode  in  which  heaven  is  said 
by  the  poet  to  interfere  for  the  prevention  of  crimes*  was 
somewhat  analogous  to  my  province,  and  never  failed  to 
occur  to  me  at  seasons  like  this.  It  was  requisite  to 


"  Peeps  through  the  blanket  of  the  dark,  and  cries 

Hold!  hold!"  SHAKSPEARB. 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  22$ 

break  your  slumbers ;  and  for  this  end  I  uttered  the 
powerful  monosyllable,  'Hold!  hold!'  My  purpose  was 
not  prescribed  by  duty,  yet  surely  it  was  far  from  being 
atrocious  and  inexpiable.  To  effect  it,  I  uttered  what 
was  false ;  but  it  was  well  suited  to  my  purpose.  No 
thing  less  was  intended  than  to  injure  you.  Nay,  the 
evil  resulting  from  my  former  act  was  partly  removed 
by  assuring  you  that  in  all  places  but  this  you  were  safe. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"  MY  morals  will  appear  to  you  far  from  rigid,  yet  my 
conduct  will  fall  short  of  your  suspicions.  I  am  now  to 
confess  actions  less  excusable ;  and  yet  surely  they  will 
not  entitle  me  to  the  name  of  a  desperate  or  sordid 
criminal. 

"Your  house  was  rendered,  by  your  frequent  and 
long  absences,  easily  accessible  to  my  curiosity.  My 
meeting  with  Pleyel  was  the  prelude  to  direct  intercourse 
with  you.  I  had  seen  much  of  the  world;  but  your 
character  exhibited  a  specimen  of  human  powers  that 
was  wholly  new  to  me.  My  intercourse  with  your  ser 
vant  furnished  me  with  curious  details  of  your  domestic 
management.  I  was  of  a  different  sex  ;  I  was  not  your 
husband ;  I  was  not  even  your  friend ;  yet  my  knowledge 
of  you  was  of  that  kind  which  conjugal  intimacies  can 
give,  and,  in  some  respects,  more  accurate.  The  obser 
vation  of  your  domestic  was  guided  by  me. 

"You  will  not  be  surprised  that  I  should  sometimes 
profit  by  your  absence,  and  adventure  to  examine  with 
my  own  eyes  the  interior  of  your  chamber.  Upright 
and  sincere,  you  used  no  watchfulness,  and  practised  no 
precautions.  I  scrutinized  every  thing  and  pried  every 
where.  Your  closet  was  usually  locked ;  but  it  was  once 
my  fortune  to  find  the  key  on  a  bureau.  I  opened  and 
found  new  scope  for  my  curiosity  in  your  books.  One 
of  these  was  manuscript,  and  written  in  characters 
which  essentially  agreed  with  a  short-hand  system  which 
I  had  learned  from  a  Jesuit  missionary. 

"I  cannot  justify  my  conduct;  yet  my  only  crime 
was  curiosity.  I  perused  this  volume  with  eagerness. 
The  intellect  which  it  unveiled  was  brighter  than  my 
224 


THE   TRANSFORMATION.  22$ 

limited  and  feeble  organs  could  bear.  I  was  naturally 
inquisitive  as  to  your  ideas  respecting  my  deportment 
and  the  mysteries  that  had  lately  occurred. 

"You  know  what  you  have  written.  You  know  that 
in  this  volume  the  key  to  your  inmost  soul  was  contained. 
If  I  had  been  a  profound  and  malignant  impostor,  what 
plenteous  materials  were  thus  furnished  me  of  stratagems 
and  plots ! 

"The  coincidence  of  your  dream  in  the  summer-house 
with  my  exclamation  was  truly  wonderful.  The  voice 
which  warned  you  to  forbear  was,  doubtless,  mine,  but 
mixed,  by  a  common  process  of  the  fancy,  with  the 
train  of  visionary  incidents. 

"I  saw  in  a  stronger  light  than  ever  the  dangerous- 
ness  of  that  instrument  which  I  employed,  and  renewed 
my  resolutions  to  abstain  from  the  use  of  it  in  future ; 
but  I  was  destined  perpetually  to  violate  my  resolutions. 
By  some  perverse  fate,  I  was  led  into  circumstances  in 
which  the  exertion  of  my  powers  was  the  sole  or  the  best 
means  of  escape. 

"On  that  memorable  night  on  which  our  last  inter 
view  took  place,  I  came  as  usual  to  Mettingen.  I  was 
apprized  of  your  engagement  at  your  Brother's,  from 
which  you  did  not  expect  to  return  till  late.  Some  inci 
dent  suggested  the  design  of  visiting  your  chamber. 
Among  your  books  which  I  had  not  examined  might  be 
something  tending  to  illustrate  your  character  or  the 
history  of  your  family.  Some  intimation  had  been 
dropped  by  you  in  discourse,  respecting  a  performance 
of  your  father,  in  which  some  important  transaction  in 
his  life  was  recorded. 

"I  was  desirous  of  seeing  this  book;  and  such  was 
my  habitual  attachment  to  mystery,  that  I  preferred  the 
clandestine  perusal  of  it.  Such  were  the  motives  that 
induced  me  to  make  this  attempt.  Judith  had  disap 
peared,  and,  finding  the  house  unoccupied,  I  supplied 
myself  with  a  light  and  proceeded  to  your  chamber. 

"I  found  it  easy,  on  experiment,  to  lock  and  unlock 

your  closet  door  without  the  aid  of  a  key.     I  shut  myself 

in  this  recess,  and  was  busily  exploring  your   shelves, 

when  I  heard  some  one  enter  the  room  below.     I  was  at 

15 


226  WIELAND;    OR, 

a  loss  who  it  could  be, — whether  you  or  your  servant. 
Doubtful,  however,  as  I  was,  I  conceived  it  prudent  to 
extinguish  the  light.  Scarcely  was  this  done,  when 
some  one  entered  the  chamber.  The  footsteps  were 
easily  distinguished  to  be  yours. 

"My  situation  was  now  full  of  danger  and  perplexity. 
For  some  time  I  cherished  the  hope  that  you  would  leave 
the  room  so  long  as  to  afford  me  an  opportunity  of 
escaping.  As  the  hours  passed,  this  hope  gradually 
deserted  me.  It  was  plain  that  you  had  retired  for  the 
night. 

"I  knew  not  how  soon  you  might  find  occasion  to 
enter  the  closet.  I  was  alive  to  all  the  horrors  of  detec 
tion,  and  ruminated  without  ceasing  on  the  behaviour 
which  it  would  be  proper,  in  case  of  detection,  to  adopt. 
I  was  unable  to  discover  any  consistent  method  of  ac 
counting  for  my  being  thus  immured. 

"It  occurred  to  me  that  I  might  withdraw  you  from 
your  chamber  for  a  few  minutes  by  counterfeiting  a 
voice  from  without.  Some  message  from  your  brother 
might  be  delivered,  requiring  your  presence  at  his  house. 
I  was  deterred  from  this  scheme  by  reflecting  on  the 
resolution  I  had  formed,  and  on  the  possible  evils  that 
might  result  from  it.  Besides,  it  was  not  improbable 
that  you  would  speedily  retire  to  bed,  and  then,  by  the 
exercise  of  sufficient  caution,  I  might  hope  to  escape 
unobserved. 

"Meanwhile  I  listened  with  the  deepest  anxiety  to 
every  motion  from  without.  I  discovered  nothing  which 
betokened  preparation  for  sleep.  Instead  of  this,  I 
heard  deep-drawn  sighs,  and  occasionally  a  half-ex 
pressed  and  mournful  ejaculation.  Hence  I  inferred 
that  you  were  unhappy.  The  true  state  of  your  mind 
with  regard  to  Pleyel  your  own  pen  had  disclosed ;  but 
I  supposed  you  to  be  framed  of  such  materials,  that, 
though  a  momentary  sadness  might  affect  you,  you  were 
impregnable  to  any  permanent  and  heartfelt  grief.  In 
quietude  for  my  own  safety  was  for  a  moment  suspended 
by  sympathy  with  your  distress. 

"  To  the  former  consideration  I  was  quickly  recalled 
by  a  motion  of  yours  which  indicated  I  knew  not  what. 


THE    TRANSFORMATION'.  22  J 

I  fostered  the  persuasion  that  you  would  now  retire  to 
bed ;  but  presently  you  approached  the  closet,  and  detec 
tion  seemed  to  be  inevitable.  You  put  your  hand  upon 
the  lock.  I  had  formed  no  plan  to  extricate  myself 
from  the  dilemma  in  which  the  opening  of  the  door  would 
involve  me.  I  felt  an  irreconcilable  aversion  to  detec 
tion.  Thus  situated,  I  involuntarily  seized  the  door, 
with  a  resolution  to  resist  your  efforts  to  open  it. 

"  Suddenly  you  receded  from  the  door.  This  deport 
ment  was  inexplicable ;  but  the  relief  it  afforded  me  was 
quickly  gone.  You  returned,  and  I  once  more  was  thrown 
into  perplexity.  The  expedient  that  suggested  itself  was 
precipitate  and  inartificial.  I  exerted  my  organs  and 
called  upon  you  to  hold. 

"  That  you  should  persist  in  spite  of  this  admonition 
was  a  subject  of  astonishment.  I  again  resisted  your 
efforts;  for,  the  first  expedient  having  foiled,  I  knew 
not  what  other  to  resort  to.  In  this  state,  how  was 
rny  astonishment  increased  when  I  heard  your  excla 
mations  ! 

"  It  was  now  plain  that  you  knew  me  to  be  within. 
Further  resistance  was  unavailing  and  useless.  The 
door  opened,  and  I  shrunk  backward.  Seldom  have  I 
felt  deeper  mortification  and  more  painful  perplexity.  I 
did  not  consider  that  the  truth  would  be  less  injurious 
than  any  lie  which  I  could  hastily  frame.  Conscious  as 
I  was  of  a  certain  degree  of  guilt,  I  conceived  that  you 
would  form  the  most  odious  suspicions.  The  truth  would 
be  imperfect,  unless  I  were  likewise  to  explain  the  mys 
terious  admonition  which  had  been  given ;  but  that  ex 
planation  was  of  too  great  moment,  and  involved  too 
extensive  consequences,  to  make  me  suddenly  resolve  to 
give  it. 

"  I  was  aware  that  this  discovery  would  associate  itself 
in  your  mind  with  the  dialogue  formerly  heard  in  this 
closet.  Thence  would  your  suspicions  be  aggravated, 
and  to  escape  from  these  suspicions  would  be  impossible. 
But  the  mere  truth  would  be  sufficiently  opprobrious,  and 
deprive  me  forever  of  your  good  opinion. 

"  Thus  was  I  rendered  desperate,  and  my  mind  rapidly 
passed  to  the  contemplation  of  the  use  that  might  be 


228  WIELAND;    OR, 

made  of  previous  events.  Some  good  genius  would  ap 
pear  to  you  to  have  interposed  to  save  you  from  injury 
intended  by  me.  'Why,'  I  said,  '  since  I  must  sink  in 
her  opinion,  should  I  not  cherish  this  belief?  Why  not 
personate  an  enemy,  and  pretend  that  celestial  inter 
ference  has  frustrated  my  schemes  ?  I  must  fly ;  but  let 
me  leave  wonder  and  fear  behind  me.  Elucidation  of 
the  mystery  will  always  be  practicable.  I  shall  do  no 
injury,  but  merely  talk  of  evil  that  was  designed,  but  is 
now  past.' 

"Thus  I  extenuated  my  conduct  to  myself;  but  I 
scarcely  expect  that  this  will  be  to  you  a  sufficient  expli 
cation  of  the  scene  that  followed.  Those  habits  which 
I  have  imbibed,  the  rooted  passion  which  possesses  me 
for  scattering  around  me  amazement  and  fear,  you  enjoy 
no  opportunities  of  knowing.  That  a  man  should  wan 
tonly  impute  to  himself  the  most  flagitious  designs  will 
hardly  be  credited,  even  though  you  reflect  that  my 
reputation  was  already,  by  my  own  folly,  irretrievably 
ruined ;  and  that  it  was  always  in  my  poAver  to  commu 
nicate  the  truth  and  rectify  the  mistake. 

"  I  left  you  to  ponder  on  this  scene.  My  mind  was 
full  of  rapid  and  incongruous  ideas.  Compunction,  self- 
upbraiding,  hopelessness,  satisfaction  at  the  view  of  those 
effects  likely  to  flow  from  my  new  scheme,  misgivings  as 
to  the  beneficial  result  of  this  scheme,  took  possession  of 
my  mind,  and  seemed  to  struggle  for  the  mastery. 

"  I  had  gone  too  far  to  recede.  I  had  painted  myself 
to  you  as  an  assassin  and  ravisher,  withheld  from  guilt 
only  by  a  voice  from  heaven.  I  had  thus  reverted  into 
the  path  of  error,  and  now,  having  gone  thus  far,  my 
progress  seemed  to  be  irrevocable.  I  said  to  myself,  CI 
must  leave  these  precincts  forever.  My  acts  have  blasted 
my  fame  in  the  eyes  of  the  Wielands.  For  the  sake  of 
creating  a  mysterious  dread,  I  have  made  myself  a  vil 
lain.  I  may  complete  this  mysterious  plan  by  some 
new  imposture,  but  I  cannot  aggravate  my  supposed 
guilt.' 

"  My  resolution  was  formed,  and  I  was  swiftly  rumi 
nating  on  the  means  for  executing  it,  when  Pleyel  ap 
peared  in  sight.  This  incident  decided  my  conduct.  It 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  22$ 

was  plain  that  Pleyel  was  a  devoted  lover,  but  lie  was, 
at  the  same  time,  a  man  of  cold  resolves  and  exquisite 
sagacity.  To  deceive  him  would  be  the  sweetest  triumph 
I  had  ever  enjoyed.  The  deception  would  be  momentary, 
but  it  would  likewise  be  complete.  That  his  delusion 
would  so  soon  be  rectified  was  a  recommendation  to  my 
scheme ;  for  I  esteemed  him  too  much  to  desire  to  entail 
upon  him  lasting  agonies. 

"  I  had  no  time  to  reflect  further,  for  he  proceeded, 
with  a  quick  step,  towards  the  house.  I  was  hurried 
onward  involuntarily  and  by  a  mechanical  impulse.  I 
followed  him  as  he  passed  the  recess  in  the  bank,  and, 
shrouding  myself  in  that  spot,  I  counterfeited  sounds 
which  I  knew  would  arrest  his  steps. 

"  He  stopped,  turned,  listened,  approached,  and  over 
heard  a  dialogue  whose  purpose  was  to  vanquish  his 
belief  in  a  point  where  his  belief  was  most  difficult  to 
vanquish.  I  exerted  all  my  powers  to  imitate  your 
voice,  your  general  sentiments,  and  your  language. 
Being  master,  by  means  of  your  journal,  of  your  per 
sonal  history  and  most  secret  thoughts,  my  efforts  were 
the  more  successful.  When  I  review  the  tenor  of  this 
dialogue,  I  cannot  believe  but  that  Pleyel  was  deluded. 
When  I  think  of  your  character,  and  of  the  inferences 
which  this  dialogue  was  intended  to  suggest,  it  seems 
incredible  that  this  delusion  should  be  produced. 

"  I  spared  not  myself.  I  called  myself  murderer, 
thief,  guilty  of  innumerable  perjuries  and  misdeeds.  That 
you  had  debased  yourself  to  the  level  of  such  a  one,  no 
evidence,  me  thought,  would  suffice  to  convince  him  who 
knew  you  so  thoroughly  as  Pleyel ;  and  yet  the  impos 
ture  amounted  to  proof  which  the  most  jealous  scrutiny 
would  find  to  be  unexceptionable. 

"  He  left  his  station  precipitately  and  resumed  his 
way  to  the  house.  I  saw  that  the  detection  of  his  error 
would  be  instantaneous,  since,  not  having  gone  to  bed, 
an  immediate  interview  would  take  place  between  you. 
At  first  this  circumstance  was  considered  with  regret ; 
but,  as  time  opened  my  eyes  to  the  possible  consequences 
of  this  scene,  I  regarded  it  with  pleasure. 

"  In  a  short  time  the  infatuation  which  had  led  me 


23O  WIELAND;    OR, 

thus  far  began  to  subside.  The  remembrance  of  former 
reasonings  and  transactions  was  renewed.  How  often  I 
had  repented  this  kind  of  exertion ;  how  many  evils 
were  produced  by  it  which  I  had  not  foreseen;  what 
occasions  for  the  bitterest  remorse  it  had  administered, 
now  passed  through  my  mind.  The  black  catalogue  of 
stratagems  was  now  increased.  I  had  inspired  you  with 
the  most  vehement  terrors  ;  I  had  filled  your  mind  with 
faith  in  shadows  and  confidence  in  dreams ;  I  had  de 
praved  the  imagination  of  Pleyel ;  I  had  exhibited  you 
to  his  understanding  as  devoted  to  brutal  gratifications 
and  consummate  in  hypocrisy.  The  evidence  which 
accompanied  this  delusion  would  be  irresistible  to  one 
whose  passion  had  perverted  his  judgment,  whose  jea 
lousy  with  regard  to  me  had  already  been  excited,  and 
who,  therefore,  would  not  fail  to  overrate  the  force  of 
this  evidence.  What  fatal  act  of  despair  or  of  vengeance 
might  not  this  error  produce? 

"  With  regard  to  myself,  I  had  acted  with  a  frenzy 
that  surpassed  belief.  I  had  warred  against  my  peace 
and  my  fame ;  I  had  banished  myself  from  the  fellow 
ship  of  vigorous  and  pure  minds ;  I  was  self-expelled 
from  a  scene  which  the  munificence  of  nature  had 
adorned  with  unrivalled  beauties,  and  from  haunts  in 
which  all  the  muses  and  humanities  had  taken  refuge. 

"  I  was  thus  torn  by  conflicting  fears  and  tumultuous 
regrets.  The  night  passed  away  in  this  state  of  con 
fusion  ;  and  the  next  morning,  in  the  gazette  left  at  my 
obscure  lodging,  I  read  a  description  and  an  offer  of 
reward  for  the  apprehension  of  my  person.  I  was  said 
to  have  escaped  from  an  Irish  prison,  in  which  I  was 
confined  as  an  offender  convicted  of  enormous  and  com 
plicated  crimes. 

"  This  was  the  work  of  an  enemy,  who,  by  falsehood 
and  stratagem,  had  procured  my  condemnation.  I  was, 
indeed,  a  prisoner,  but  escaped,  by  the  exertion  of  my 
powers,  the  fate  to  which  I  was  doomed,  but  which  I  did 
not  deserve.  I  had  hoped  that  the  malice  of  my  foe  was 
exhausted ;  but  I  now  perceived  that  my  precautions  had 
been  wise,  for  that  the  intervention  of  an  ocean  was  in 
sufficient  for  my  security. 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  23! 

"  Let  me  not  dwell  on  the  sensations  which  this  dis 
covery  produced.  I  need  not  tell  by  what  steps  I  was 
induced  to  seek  an  interview  with  you,  for  the  purpose 
of  disclosing  the  truth,  and  repairing,  as  far  as  possible, 
the  effects  of  my  misconduct.  It  was  unavoidable  that 
this  gazette  would  fall  into  your  hands,  and  that  it  would 
tend  to  confirm  every  erroneous  impression. 

"Having  gained  this  interview,  I  purposed  to  seek 
some  retreat  in  the  wilderness,  inaccessible  to  your  in 
quiry  and  to  the  malice  of  my  foe,  where  I  might  hence 
forth  employ  myself  in  composing  a  faithful  narrative 
of  my  actions.  I  designed  it  as  my  vindication  from  the 
aspersions  that  had  rested  on  my  character,  and  as  a 
lesson  to  mankind  on  the  evils  of  credulity  on  the  one 
hand,  and  of  imposture  on  the  other. 

"I  wrote  you  a  billet,  which  was  left  at  the  house  of 
your  friend,  and  which  I  knew  would,  by  some  means, 
speedily  come  to  your  hands.  I  entertained  a  faint 
hope  that  my  invitation  would  be  complied  with.  I  knew 
not  what  use  you  would  make  of  the  opportunity  which 
this  proposal  afforded  you  of  procuring  the  seizure  of  my 
person ;  but  this  fate  I  was  determined  to  avoid,  and  I 
had  no  doubt  but  due  circumspection,  and  the  exercise 
of  the  faculty  wrhich  I  possessed,  would  enable  me  to 
avoid  it. 

"I  lurked  through  the  day  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Mettingen ;  I  approached  your  habitation  at  the  ap 
pointed  hour:  I  entered  it  in  silence,  by  a  trap-door 
which  led  into  the  cellar.  This  had  formerly  been 
bolted  on  the  inside,  but  Judith  had,  at  an  early  pe 
riod  in  our  intercourse,  removed  this  impediment.  I 
ascended  to  the  first  floor,  but  met  with  no  one,  nor 
any  thing  that  indicated  the  presence  of  a  human 
being. 

"I  crept  softly  up-stairs,  and  at  length  perceived  your 
chamber  door  to  be  opened  and  a  light  to  be  within.  It 
was  of  moment  to  discover  by  whom  this  light  was 
accompanied.  I  was  sensible  of  the  inconveniences  to 
which  my  being  discovered  at  your  chamber  door  by 
any  one  within  would  subject  me ;  I  therefore  called  out 
in  my  own  voice,  but  so  modified  that  it  should  appear 


232  WIELAND;    OR, 

to  ascend  from  the  court  below,  'Who  is  in  the  cham 
ber  ?  Is  it  Miss  Wieland  ?' 

"No  answer  was  returned  to  this  summons.  I  listened, 
but  no  motion  could  be  heard.  After  a  pause  I  repeated 
my  call,  but  no  less  ineffectually. 

"I  now  approached  nearer  to  the  door,  and  adventured 
to  look  in.  A  light  stood  on  the  table,  but  nothing 
human  was  discernible.  I  entered  cautiously,  but  ail 
was  solitude  and  stillness. 

"I  knew  not  what  to  conclude.  If  the  house  were 
inhabited,  my  call  would  have  been  noticed ;  yet  some 
suspicion  insinuated  itself  that  silence  was  studiously 
kept  by  persons  who  intended  to  surprise  me.  My  ap 
proach  had  been  wary,  and  the  silence  that  ensued  my 
call  had  likew ise  preceded  it ;  a  circumstance  that  tended 
to  dissipate  my  fears. 

"At  length  it  occurred  to  me  that  Judith  might  pos 
sibly  be  in  her  own  room.  I  turned  my  steps  thither ; 
but  she  was  not  to  be  found.  I  passed  into  other  rooms, 
and  was  soon  convinced  that  the  house  was  totally  de 
serted.  I  returned  to  your  chamber,  agitated  by  vain 
surmises  and  opposite  conjectures.  The  appointed  hour 
had  passed,  and  I  dismissed  the  hope  of  an  interview. 

"In  this  state  of  things  I  determined  to  leave  a  few 
lines  on  your  toilet,  and  prosecute  my  journey  to  the 
mountains.  Scarcely  had  I  taken  the  pen  when  I  laid 
it  aside,  uncertain  in  what  manner  to  address  you.  I 
rose  from  the  table  and  walked  across  the  floor.  A 
glance  thrown  upon  the  bed  acquainted  me  with  a  spec 
tacle  to  which  my  conceptions  of  horror  had  not  yet 
reached. 

"In  the  midst  of  shuddering  and  trepidation,  the  sig 
nal  of  your  presence  in  the  court  below  recalled  me  to 
myself.  The  deed  was  newly  done ;  I  only  was  in  the 
house;  what  had  lately  happened  justified  any  suspi 
cions,  however  enormous.  It  was  plain  that  this  catas 
trophe  was  unknown  to  you ;  I  thought  upon  the  wild 
commotion  which  the  discovery  would  awaken  in  your 
breast ;  I  found  the  confusion  of  my  own  thoughts  un 
conquerable,  and  perceived  that  the  end  for  which  I 
sought  an  interview  was  not  now  to  be  accomplished. 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  233 

"  In  this  state  of  things,  it  was  likewise  expedient  to 
conceal  my  being  within.  I  put  out  the  light  and  hur 
ried  down  the  stairs.  To  my  unspeakable  surprise,  not 
withstanding  every  motive  to  fear,  you  lighted  a  candle 
and  proceeded  to  your  chamber. 

"I  retired  to  that  room  below  from  which  a  door 
leads  into  the  cellar.  This  door  concealed  me  from 
your  view  as  you  passed.  I  thought  upon  the  spectacle 
which  was  about  to  present  itself.  In  an  exigence  so 
abrupt  and  so  little  foreseen,  I  was  again  subjected  to 
the  empire  of  mechanical  and  habitual  impulses.  I 
dreaded  the  effects  which  this  shocking  exhibition, 
bursting  on  your  unprepared  senses,  might  produce. 

"Thus  actuated,  I  stepped  swiftly  to  the  door,  and, 
thrusting  my  head  forward,  once  more  pronounced  the 
mysterious  interdiction.  At  that  moment,  by  some  un 
toward  fate,  your  eyes  were  cast  back,  and  you  saw  me 
in  the  very  act  of  utterance.  I  fled  through  the  dark 
some  avenue  at  which  I  entered,  covered  with  the  shame 
of  this  detection. 

"With  diligence,  stimulated  by  a  thousand  ineffable 
emotions,  I  pursued  my  intended  journey.  I  have  a 
brother  whose  farm  is  situated  in  the  bosom  of  a  fertile 
desert,  near  the  sources  of  the  Lehigh ;  and  thither  I 
now  repaired. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"  DEEPLY  did  I  ruminate  on  the  occurrences  that  had 
just  passed.  Nothing  excited  my  wonder  so  much  as 
the  means  by  which  you  discovered  my  being  in  the 
closet.  This  discovery  appeared  to  be  made  at  the  mo 
ment  when  you  attempted  to  open  it.  How  could  you 
have  otherwise  remained  so  long  in  the  chamber  appa 
rently  fearless  and  tranquil?  And  yet,  having  made 
this  discovery,  how  could  you  persist  in  dragging  me 
forth  ? — persist  in  defiance  of  an  interdiction  so  em- 
phatical  and  solemn  ? 

"But  your  sister's  death  was  an  event  detestable  and 
ominous.  She  had  been  the  victim  of  the  most  dreadful 
species  of  assassination.  How,  in  a  state  like  yours, 
the  murderous  intention  could  be  generated,  was  wholly 
inconceivable. 

"I  did  not  relinquish  my  design  of  confessing  to  you 
the  part  which  I  had  sustained  in  your  family ;  but  I 
was  willing  to  defer  it  till  the  task  which  I  had  set  my 
self  was  finished.  That  being  done,  I  resumed  the  re 
solution.  The  motives  to  incite  me  to  this  continually 
acquired  force.  The  more  I  revolved  the  events  hap 
pening  at  Mettingen,  the  more  insupportable  and  omi 
nous  my  terrors  became.  My  waking  hours  and  my 
sleep  were  vexed  by  dismal  presages  and  frightful  inti 
mations. 

"  Catharine  was  dead  by  violence.  Surely  my  malig 
nant  stars  had  not  made  me  the  cause  of  her  death ;  yet 
had  I  not  rashly  set  in  motion  a  machine  over  whose 
progress  I  had  no  control,  and  which  experience  had 
shown  me  was  infinite  in  power  ?  Every  day  might  add 
to  the  catalogue  of  horrors  of  which  this  was  the  source, 
234 


THE   TRANSFORMATION.  235 

and  a  seasonable  disclosure  of  the  truth  might  prevent 
numberless  ills. 

"Fraught  with  this  conception,  I  have  turned  my 
steps  hither.  I  find  your  brother's  house  desolate ;  the 
furniture  removed,  and  the  walls  stained  with  damps. 
Your  own  is  in  the  same  situation.  Your  chamber  is 
dismantled  and  dark,  and  you  exhibit  an  image  of  in 
curable  grief  and  of  rapid  decay. 

"I  have  uttered  the  truth.  This  is  the  extent  of  my 
offences.  You  tell  me  a  horrid  tale  of  Wieland  being 
led  to  the  destruction  of  his  wife  and  children  by  some 
mysterious  agent.  You  charge  me  with  the  guilt  of  this 
agency ;  but  I  repeat  that  the  amount  of  my  guilt  has 
been  truly  stated.  The  perpetrator  of  Catharine's 
death  was  unknown  to  me  till  now ;  nay,  it  is  still  un 
known  to  me." 

At  that  moment,  the  closing  of  a  door  in  the  kitchen 
was  distinctly  heard  by  us.  Carwin  started  and  paused. 
"There  is  some  one  coming.  I  must  not  be  found  here 
by  my  enemies,  and  need  not,  since  my  purpose  is 
answered." 

I  had  drunk  in,  with  the  most  vehement  attention, 
every  word  that  he  had  uttered.  I  had  no  breath  to 
interrupt  his  tale  by  interrogations  or  comments.  The 
power  that  he  spoke  of  was  hitherto  unknown  to  me; 
its  existence  was  incredible;  it  was  susceptible  of  no 
direct  proof. 

He  owns  that  his  were  the  voice  and  face  which  I  heard 
and  saw.  He  attempts  to  give  a  human  explanation  of 
these  phantasms;  but  it  is  enough  that  he  owns  himself 
to  be  the  agent :  his  tale  is  a  lie,  and  his  nature  devilish. 
As  he  deceived  me,  he  likewise  deceived  my  brother,  and 
now  do  I  behold  the  author  of  all  our  calamities ! 

Such  were  my  thoughts  when  his  pause  allowed  me  to 
think.  I  should  have  bade  him  begone  if  the  silence 
had  not  been  interrupted ;  but  now  I  feared  no  more  for 
myself;  and  the  milkmess  of  my  nature  was  curdled  into 
hatred  and  rancour.  Some  one  was  near,  and  this  enemy 
of  God  and  man  might  possibly  be  brought  to  justice 
I  reflected  not  that  the  preternatural  power  which  he 
had  hitherto  exerted  would  avail  to  rescue  him  from  any 


WIELAND;    OR, 

toils  in  which  his  feet  might  be  entangled.  Meanwhile, 
looks,  and  not  words,  of  menace  and  abhorrence,  were 
all  that  I  could  bestow. 

He  did  not  depart.  He  seemed  dubious  whether  by 
passing  out  of  the  house,  or  by  remaining  somewhat 
longer  where  he  was,  he  should  most  endanger  his  safety. 
His  confusion  increased  when  steps  of  one  barefoot  were 
heard  upon  the  stairs.  He  threw  anxious  glances  some 
times  at  the  closet,  sometimes  at  the  window,  and  some 
times  at  the  chamber  door ;  yet  he  was  detained  by  some 
inexplicable  fascination.  He  stood  as  if  rooted  to  the 
spot. 

As  to  me,  my  soul  was  bursting  with  detestation  and 
revenge.  I  had  no  room  for  surmises  and  fearl|  respect 
ing  him  that  approached.  It  was  doubtless  *a  human 
being,  and  would  befriend  me  so  far  as  to  aid  me  in 
arresting  this  offender. 

The  stranger  quickly  entered  the  room.  My  eyes 
and  the  eyes  of  Carwin  were  at  the  same  moment  darted 
upon  him.  A  second  glance  was  not  needed  to  inform 
us  who  he  was.  His  locks  were  tangled,  and  fell  con 
fusedly  over  his  forehead  and  ears.  His  shirt  was  of 
coarse  stuff,  and  open  at  the  neck  and  breast.  His  coat 
was  once  of  bright  and  fine  texture,  but  now  torn  and 
tarnished  with  dust.  His  feet,  his  legs,  and  his  arms, 
were  bare.  His  features  were  the  seat  of  a  wild  and 
tranquil  solemnity,  but  his  eyes  bespoke  inquietude  and 
curiosity. 

He  advanced  with  a  firm  step,  and  looking  as  in  search 
of  some  one.  He  saw  me  and  stopped.  He  bent  his 
sight  on  the  floor,  and,  clenching  his  hands,  appeared 
suddenly  absorbed  in  meditation.  Such  were  the  figure 
and  deportment  of  Wieland !  Such,  in  his  fallen  state, 
were  the  aspect  and  guise  of  my  brother ! 

Carwin  did  not  fail  to  recognise  the  visitant.  Care 
for  his  own  safety  was  apparently  swallowed  up  in  the 
amazement  which  this  spectacle  produced.  His  station 
was  conspicuous,  and  he  could  not  have  escaped  the  roving 
glances  of  Wieland ;  yet  the  latter  seemed  totally  un 
conscious  of  his  presence. 

Grief  at  this  scene  of  ruin  and  blast  was  at  first  the 


THE    TRANSFORMATION. 

only  sentiment  of  which  I  was  conscious.  A  fearful 
stillness  ensued.  At  length  Wieland,  lifting  his  hands, 
which  were  locked  in  each  other,  to  his  breast,  exclaimed, 
"Father  !  I  thank  thee.  This  is  thy  guidance.  Hither 
thou  hast  led  me,  that  I  might  perform  thy  will.  Yet 
let  me  not  err;  let  me  hear  again  thy  messenger!" 

He  stood  for  a  minute  as  if  listening ;  but,  recovering 
from  his  attitude,  he  continued,  "It  is  not  needed.  Das 
tardly  wretch !  thus  eternally  questioning  the  behests  of 
thy  Maker!  weak  in  resolution,  wayward  in  faith!" 

He  advanced  to  me,  and,  after  another  pause,  re 
sumed  : — "  Poor  girl !  a  dismal  fate  has  set  its  mark  upon 
thee.  Thy  life  is  demanded  as  a  sacrifice.  Prepare 
thee  to  die.  Make  not  my  office  difficult  by  fruitless 
opposition.  Thy  prayers  might  subdue  stones ;  but  none 
but  he  who  enjoined  my  purpose  can  shake  it." 

These  words  were  a  sufficient  explication  of  the  scene. 
The  nature  of  his  frenzy,  as  described  by  my  uncle,  was 
remembered.  I,  who  had  sought  death,  was  now  thrilled 
with  horror  because  it  was  near.  Death  in  this  form, 
death  from  the  hand  of  a  brother,  was  thought  upon  with 
indescribable  repugnance. 

In  a  state  thus  verging  upon  madness,  my  eye  glanced 
upon  Carwin.  His  astonishment  appeared  to  have  struck 
him  motionless  and  dumb.  My  life  was  in  danger,  and 
my  brother's  hand  was  about  to  be  imbrued  in  my  blood. 
I  firmly  believed  that  Carwin's  was  the  instigation.  I 
could  rescue  myself  from  this  abhorred  fate ;  I  could  dis 
sipate  this  tremendous  illusion ;  I  could  save  my  brother 
from  the  perpetration  of  new  horrors,  by  pointing  out 
the  devil  who  seduced  him.  To  hesitate  a  moment  was 
to  perish.  These  thoughts  gave  strength  to  my  limbs 
and  energy  to  my  accents ;  I  started  on  my  feet : — 

"  Oh,  brother !  spare  me !  spare  thyself!  There  is  thy 
betrayer.  He  counterfeited  the  voice  and  face  of  an 
angel,  for  the  purpose  of  destroying  thee  and  me.  He 
has  this  moment  confessed  it.  He  is  able  to  speak  where 
he  is  not.  He  is  leagued  with  hell,  but  will  not  avow  it ; 
yet  he  confesses  that  the  agency  was  his." 

My  brother  turned  slowly  his  eyes,  and  fixed  them 
upon  Carwin.  Every '  joint  in  the  frame  of  the  latter 


238  WIELAND;    OR, 

trembled.  His  complexion  was  paler  than  a  ghost's. 
His  eye  dared  not  meet  that  of  Wieland,  but  wandered 
with  an  air  of  distraction  from  one  space  to  another. 

"Man,"  said  my  brother,  in  a  voice  totally  unlike  that 
which  he  had  used  to  me,  "what  art  thou?  The  charge 
has  been  made.  Answer  it.  The  visage — the  voice — at 
the  bottom  of  these  stairs — at  the  hour  of  eleven — to 
whom  did  they  belong?  To  thee?" 

Twice  did  Carwin  attempt  to  speak,  but  his  words  died 
away  upon  his  lips.  My  brother  resumed,  in  a  tone  of 
greater  vehemence : — 

"  Thou  falterest.  Faltering  is  ominous.  Say  yes  or 
no;  one  word  will  suffice;  but  beware  of  falsehood. 
Was  it  a  stratagem  of  hell  to  overthrow  my  family? 
Wast  thou  the  agent?" 

I  now  saw  that  the  wrath  which  had  been  prepared 
for  me  was  to  be  heaped  upon  another.  The  tale  that  I 
heard  from  him,  and  his  present  trepidations,  were  abun 
dant  testimonies  of  his  guilt.  But  what  if  Wieland 
should  be  undeceived !  What  if  he  shall  find  his  act  to 
have  proceeded  not  from  a  heavenly  prompter,  but  from 
human  treachery !  Will  not  his  rage  mount  into  whirl 
wind?  Will  not  he  tear  limb  from  limb  this  devoted 
wretch  ? 

Instinctively  I  recoiled  from  this  image ;  but  it  gave 
place  to  another.  Carwin  may  be  innocent,  but  the 
impetuosity  of  his  judge  may  misconstrue  his  answers 
into  a  confession  of  guilt.  Wieland  knows  not  that 
mysterious  voices  and  appearances  were  likewise  witnessed 
by  me.  Carwin  may  be  ignorant  of  those  which  misled 
my  brother.  Thus  may  his  answers  unwarily  betray 
himself  to  ruin. 

Such  might  be  the  consequences  of  my  frantic  pre 
cipitation,  and  these  it  was  necessary,  if  possible,  to  pre 
vent.  I  attempted  to  speak;  but  Wieland,  turning 
suddenly  upon  me,  commanded  silence,  in  a  tone  furious 
and  terrible.  My  lips  closed,  and  my  tongue  refused  its 
office. 

"What  art  thou?"  he  resumed,  addressing  himself  to 
Carwin.  "Answer  me :  whose  form — whose  voice, — was 
it  thy  contrivance  ?  Answer  me." 


THE    TRANSFORMATION. 

The  answer  was  now  given,  but  confusedly  and  scarcely 
articulated.  "I  meant  nothing — I  intended  no  ill — if  I 
understand — if  I  do  not  mistake  you — it  is  too  true — I 
did  appear — in  the  entry — did  speak.  The  contrivance 
was  mine,  but " 

These  words  were  no  sooner  uttered,  than  my  brother 
ceased  to  wear  the  same  aspect.  His  eyes  were  down 
cast  ;  he  was  motionless ;  his  respiration  became  hoarse, 
like  that  of  a  man  in  the  agonies  of  death.  Carwin 
seemed  unable  to  say  more.  He  might  have  easily 
escaped ;  but  the  thought  which  occupied  him  related  to 
what  was  horrid  and  unintelligible  in  this  scene,  and  not 
to  his  own  danger. 

Presently  the  faculties  of  Wieland,  which,  for  a  time, 
were  chained  up,  were  seized  with  restlessness  and 
trembling.  He  broke  silence.  The  stoutest  heart  would 
have  been  appalled  by  the  tone  in  which  he  spoke.  He 
addressed  himself  to  Carwin : — 

"Why  art  thou  here?  Who  detains  thee?  Go  and 
learn  better.  I  will  meet  thee,  but  it  must  be  at  the  bar 
of  thy  Maker.  There  shall  I  bear  witness  against 
thee." 

Perceiving  that  Carwin  did  not  obey,  he  continued, 
"Dost  thou  wish  me  to  complete  the  catalogue  by  thy 
death?  Thy  life  is  a  worthless  thing.  Tempt  me  no 
more.  I  am  but  a  man,  and  thy  presence  may  awaken 
a  fury  which  may  spurn  my  control.  Begone !" 

Carwin,  irresolute,  striving  in  vain  for  utterance,  his 
complexion  pallid  as  death,  his  knees  beating  one  against 
another,  slowly  obeyed  the  mandate  and  withdrew. 


H 

^dj 
! 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

AJFEW  woras  mgrei^nd  I  lay  aside  the  jpen  forever. 
Yet  why  should  I  not  relinquish  it  now?  ATT'Thafl 
have  said  is  preparatory  to  this  scene,  and  my  fingers, 
tremulous  and  cold  as  my  heart,  refuse  any  further  ex 
ertion.  This  must  not  be.  Let  my  last  energies  sup 
port  me  in  the  finishing  of  this  task.  Then  will  I  lay 
down  my  head  in  the  lap  of  death.  Hushed  will  be  all 
my  murmurs  in  the  sleep  of  the  grave. 

Every  sentiment  has  perished  in  my  bosom.  Even 
friendship  is  extinct.  Your  love  for  me  has  prompted 
me  to  this  task  ;  but  I  would  not  have  complied  if  it  had 
not  been  a  luxury  thus  to  feast  upon  my  woes.  I  have 
justly  calculated  upon  my  remnant  of  strength.  When 
I  lay  down  the  pen  the  taper  of  life  will  expire  ;  my 
existence  will  terminate  with  my  tale. 

Now  that  I  was  left  alone  with  Wieland,  the  perils  of 
my  situation  presented  themselves  to  my  mind.  That 
this  paroxysm  should  terminate  in  havoc  and  rage  it 
was  reasonable  to  predict.  The  first  suggestion  of  my 
fears  had  been  disproved  by  my  experience.  Carwin 
had  acknowledged  his  offences,  and  yet  had  escaped. 
The  vengeance  which  I  had  harboured  had  not  been 
admitted  by  Wieland  ;  and  yet  the  evils  which  I  had  en 
dured,  compared  with  those  inflicted  on  my  brother,  were 
as  nothing.  I  thirsted  for  his  blood,  and  was  tormented 
with  an  insatiable  appetite  for  his  destruction  ;  but  my 
brother  was  unmoved,  and  had  dismissed  him  in  safety. 
Surely  thou  wast  more  than  man,  while  I  am  sunk  below 
the  beasts. 

Did  I  place  a  right  construction  on  the  conduct  of 
Wieland  ?  Was  the  error  that  misled  him  so  easily  rec- 
240 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  24! 

tified?  Were  views  so  vivid  and  faith  so  strenuous 
thus  liable  to  fading  and  to  change?  Was  there  not 
reason  to  doubt  the  accuracy  of  my  perceptions  ?  With 
images  like  these  was  my  mind  thronged,  till  the  deport 
ment  of  my  brother  called  away  my  attention. 

I  saw  his  lips  move  and  his  eyes  cast  up  to  heaven. 
Then  would  he  listen  and  look  back,  as  if  in  expectation 
of  some  one's  appearance.  Thrice  he  repeated  these 
gesticulations  and  this  inaudible  prayer.  Each  time 
the  mist  of  confusion  and  doubt  seemed  to  grow  darker 
and  to  settle  on  his  understanding.  I  guessed  at  the 
meaning  of  these  tokens.  The  words  of  Carwin  had 
shaken  his  belief,  and  he  was  employed  in  summoning 
the  messenger  who  had  formerly  communed  with  him,  to 
attest  the  value  of  those  new  doubts.  In  vain  the  sum 
mons  was  repeated,  for  his  eye  met  nothing  but  vacancy, 
and  not  a  sound  saluted  his  ear. 

He  walked  to  the  bed,  gazed  with  eagerness  at  the 
pillow  which  had  sustained  the  head  of  the  breathless 
Catharine,  and  then  returned  to  the  place  where  I  sat. 
I  had  no  power  to  lift  my  eyes  to  his  face :  I  was  du 
bious  of  his  purpose ;  this  purpose  might  aim  at  my  life. 

Alas !  nothing  but  subjection  to  danger  and  exposure 
to  temptation  can  show  us  what  we  arc.  By  this  test 
was  I  now  tried,  and  found  to  be  cowardly  and  rash. 
Men  can  deliberately  untie  the  thread  of  life,  and  of  this 
I  had  deemed  myself  capable.  It  was  now  that  I  stood 
upon  the  brink  of  fate,  that  the  knife  of  the  sacrificer 
was  aimed  at  my  heart,  I  shuddered,  and  betook  myself 
to  any  means  of  escape,  however  monstrous. 

Can  I  bear  to  think — can  I  endure  to  relate  the  out 
rage  which  my  heart  meditated  ?  Where  were  my  means 
of  safety  ?  llesistance  was  vain.  Not  even  the  energy 
of  despair  could  set  me  on  a  level  with  that  strength 
which  his  terrific  prompter  had  bestowed  upon  Wieland. 
Terror  enables  us  to  perform  incredible  feats ;  but  terror 
was  not  then  the  state  of  my  mind :  where  then  were 
my  hopes  of  rescue  ? 

Methinks  it  is  too  much.  I  stand  aside,  as  it  were, 
from  myself ;  I  estimate  my  own  deservings ;  a  hatred, 
immortal  and  inexorable,  is  my  due.  I  listen  to  my  own 
16 


242  WIELAND;    OR, 

pleas,  and  find  them  empty  and  false :  yes,  I  acknow 
ledge  that  my  guilt  surpasses  that  of  mankind ;  I  con 
fess  that  the  curses  of  a  world  and  the  frowns  of  a 
Deity  are  inadequate  to  my  demerits.  Is  there  a  thing 
in  the  world  worthy  of  infinite  abhorrence  ?  It  is  I. 

What  shall  I  say?  I  was  menaced,  as  I  thought,  with 
death,  and,  to  elude  this  evil,  my  hand  was  ready  to 
inflict  death  upon  the  menacer.  In  visiting  my  house,  I 
had  made  provision  against  the  machinations  of  Carwin. 
In  a  fold  of  my  dress  an  open  penknife  was  concealed. 
This  I  now  seized  and  drew  forth.  It  lurked  out  of 
view ;  but  I  now  see  that  my  state  of  mind  would  have 
rendered  the  deed  inevitable  if  my  brother  had  lifted  his 
hand.  This  instrument  of  my  preservation  would  have 
been  plunged  into  his  heart. 

0  insupportable  remembrance !  hide  thee  from  my 
view  for  a  time;  hide  it  from  me  that  my  heart  was 
black  enough  to  meditate  the  stabbing  of  a  brother ! 
a  brother  thus  supreme  in  misery;  thus  towering  in 
virtue ! 

He  was  probably  unconscious  of  my  design,  but  pre 
sently  drew  back.  This  interval  was  sufficient  to  restore 
me  to  myself.  The  madness,  the  iniquity,  of  that  act 
which  I  had  purposed  rushed  upon  my  apprehension. 
For  a  moment  I  was  breathless  with  agony.  At  the 
next  moment  I  recovered  my  strength,  and  threw  the 
knife  with  violence  on  the  floor. 

The  sound  awoke  my  brother  from  his  reverie.  He 
gazed  alternately  at  me  and  at  the  weapon.  With  a 
movement  equally  solemn  he  stooped  and  took  it  up. 
He  placed  the  blade  in  different  positions,  scrutinizing  it 
accurately,  and  maintaining,  at  the  same  time,  a  pro 
found  silence. 

Again  he  looked  at  me ;  but  all  that  vehemence  and 
loftiness  of  spirit  which  had  so  lately  characterized  his 
features  were  flown.  Fallen  muscles,  a  forehead  con 
tracted  into  folds,  eyes  dim  with  unbidden  drops,  and  a 
ruefulness  of  aspect  which  no  words  can  describe,  were 
now  visible. 

His  looks  touched  into  energy  the  same  sympathies  in 
me,  and  I  poured  forth  a  flood  of  tears.  This  passion 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  243 

was  quickly  checked  by  fear,  which  had  now  no  longer 
my  own  but  his  safety  for  their  object.  I  watched  his 
deportment  in  silence.  At  length  he  spoke  : — 

"  Sister,"  said  he,  in  an  accent  mournful  and  mild, 
"  I  have  acted  poorly  my  part  in  this  world.  What 
thinkest  thou?  Shall  I  not  do  better  in  the  next  ?" 

I  could  make  no  answer.  The  mildness  of  his  tone 
astonished  and  encouraged  me.  I  continued  to  regard 
him  with  wistful  and  anxious  looks. 

" I  think,"  resumed  he,  "I  will  try.  My  wife  and  my 
babes  have  gone  before.  Happy  wretches  !  I  have  sent 
you  to  repose,  and  ought  not  to  linger  behind." 

These  words  had  a  meaning  sufficiently  intelligible.  I 
looked  at  the  open  knife  in  his  hand  and  shuddered,  but 
knew  not  how  to  prevent  the  deed  which  I  dreaded. 
He  quickly  noticed  my  fears,  and  comprehended  them. 
Stretching  towards  me  his  hand,  with  an  air  of  increas 
ing  mildness,  "  Take  it,"  said  he  ;  "fear  not  for  thy  own 
sake,  nor  for  mine.  The  cup  is  gone  by,  and  its  tran 
sient  inebriation  is  succeeded  by  the  soberness  of  truth. 

"  Thou  angel  whom  I  was  wont  to  worship !  fearest 
thou,  my  sister,  for  thy  life  ?  Once  it  was  the  scope  of 
my  labours  to  destroy  thee,  but  I  was  prompted  to  the 
deed  by  heaven  ;  such,  at  least,  was  my  belief.  Think 
est  thou  that  thy  death  was  sought  to  gratify  malevo 
lence  ?  No.  I  am  pure  from  all  stain.  I  believed  that 
my  God  was  my  mover  ! 

"  Neither  thee  nor  myself  have  I  cause  to  injure.  I 
have  done  my  duty ;  and  surely  there  is  merit  in  having 
sacrificed  to  that  all  that  is  dear  to  the  heart  of  man. 
If  a  devil  has  deceived  me,  he  came  in  the  habit  of  an 
angel.  If  I  erred,  it  was  not  my  judgment  that  de 
ceived  me,  but  my  senses.  In  thy  sight,  Being  of  beings ! 
I  am  still  pure.  Still  will  I  look  for  my  reward  in  thy 
justice !" 

Did  my  ears  truly  report  these  sounds  ?  If  I  did  not 
err,  my  brother  was  restored  to  just  perceptions.  He 
knew  himself  to  have  been  betrayed  to  the  murder  of 
his  wife  and  children,  to  have  been  the  victim  of  infernal 
artifice ;  yet  he  found  consolation  in  the  rectitude  of 
his  motives.  He  was  not  devoid  of  sorrow,  for  this  was 


244  WIELAND;    OR, 

written  on  his  countenance  ;  but  his  soul  was  tranquil 
and  sublime. 

Perhaps  this  was  merely  a  transition  of  his  former 
madness  into  a  new  shape.  Perhaps  he  had  not  yet 
awakened  to  the  memory  of  the  horrors  which  he  had 
perpetrated.  Infatuated  wretch  that  I  was !  To  set 
myself  up  as  a  model  by  which  to  judge  of  my  heroic 
brother !  My  reason  taught  me  that  his  conclusions 
were  right;  but,  conscious  of  the  impotence  of  reason 
over  my  own  conduct,  conscious  of  my  cowardly  rash 
ness  and  my  criminal  despair,  I  doubted  whether  any 
one  could  be  steadfast  and  wise. 

Such  was  my  weakness,  that  even  in  the  midst  of 
these  thoughts  my  mind  glided  into  abhorrence  of  Car- 
win,  and  I  uttered,  in  a  low  voice,  "0  Carwin!  Carwin! 
what  hast  thou  to  answer  for?" 

My  brother  immediately  noticed  the  involuntary  ex 
clamation.  "Clara!"  said  he,  "be  thyself.  Equity 
used  to  be  a  theme  for  thy  eloquence.  Reduce  its  les 
sons  to  practice,  and  be  just  to  that  unfortunate  man. 
The  instrument  has  done  its  work,  and  I  am  satisfied. 

"I  thank  thee,  my  God,  for  this  last  illumination! 
My  enemy  is  thine  also.  I  deemed  him  to  be  man, — 
the  man  with  whom  I  have  often  communed ;  but  now 
thy  goodness  has  unveiled  to  me  his  true  nature.  As 
the  performer  of  thy  behests,  he  is  my  friend." 

My  heart  began  now  to  misgive  me.  His  mournful 
aspect  had  gradually  yielded  place  to  a  serene  brow.  A 
new  soul  appeared  to  actuate  his  frame,  and  his  eyes  to 
beam  with  preternatural  lustre.  These  symptoms  did 
not  abate,  and  he  continued : — 

"  Clara,  I  must  not  leave  thee  in  doubt.  I  know  not 
what  brought  about  thy  interview  with  the  being  whom 
thou  callest  Carwin.  For  a  time  I  was  guilty  of  thy 
error,  and  deduced  from  his  incoherent  confessions  that  I 
had  been  made  the  victim  of  human  malice.  He  left  us 
at  my  bidding,  and  I  put  up  a  prayer  that  my  doubts 
should  be  removed.  Thy  eyes  were  shut  and  thy  ears 
sealed  to  the  vision  that  answered  my  prayer. 

"I  was  indeed  deceived.  The  form  thou  hast  seen  was 
the  incarnation  of  a  demon.  The  visage  and  voice 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  245 

which  urged  me  to  the  sacrifice  of  my  family  were  his. 
Now  he  personates  a  human  form;  then  he  was  envi 
roned  with  the  lustre  of  heaven. 

"Clara,"  he  continued,  advancing  closer  to  me,  "thy 
death  must  come.  This  minister  is  evil,  but  he  from 
whom  his  commission  was  received  is  God.  Submit  then 
with  all  thy  wonted  resignation  to  a  decree  that  cannot 
be  reversed  or  resisted.  Mark  the  clock.  Three 
minutes  are  allowed  to  thee,  in  which  to  call  up  thy 
fortitude  and  prepare  thee  for  thy  doom."  There  he 
stopped. 

Even  now,  when  this  scene  exists  only  in  memory, 
when  life  and  all  its  functions  have  sunk  into  torpor,  my 
pulse  throbs,  and  my  hairs  uprise ;  my  brows  are  knit, 
as  then,  and  I  gaze  around  me  in  distraction.  I  was 
unconquerably  averse  to  death ;  but  death,  imminent 
and  full  of  agony  as  that  which  was  threatened,  was 
nothing.  This  was  not  the  only  or  chief  inspirer  of  my 
fears. 

For  him,  not  for  myself,  was  my  soul  tormented.  1 
might  die,  and  no  crime,  surpassing  the  reach  of  mercy, 
would  pursue  me  to  the  presence  of  my  Judge ;  but  my 
assassin  would  survive  to  contemplate  his  deed,  and  that 
assassin  was  Wieland ! 

Wings  to  bear  me  beyond  his  reach  I  had  not.  I  could 
not  vanish  with  a  thought.  The  door  was  open,  but  my 
murderer  was  interposed  between  that  and  me.  Of  self- 
defence  I  was  incapable.  The  frenzy  that  lately  prompted 
me  to  blood  was  gone:  my  state  was  desperate;  my 
rescue  was  impossible. 

The  weight  of  these  accumulated  thoughts  could  not 
be  borne.  My  sight  became  confused;  my  limbs  were 
seized  with  convulsion;  I  spoke,  but  my  words  were 
half  formed: — 

"  Spare  me,  my  brother !  Look  down,  righteous 
Judge !  snatch  me  from  this  fate !  take  away  this  fury 
from  him,  or  turn  it  elsewhere !" 

Such  was  the  agony  of  my  thoughts  that  I  noticed 
not  steps  entering  my  apartment.  Supplicating  eyes 
were  cast  upward ;  but  when  my  prayer  was  breathed  I 
once  more  wildly  gazed  at  the  door.  A  form  met  my 


246  WIELAND;    OR, 

sight ;  I  shuddered  as  if  the  God  whom  I  invoked  were 
present.  It  was  Carwin  that  again  intruded,  and  who 
stood  before  me,  erect  in  attitude  and  steadfast  in  look ! 

The  sight  of  him  awakened  new  and  rapid  thoughts. 
His  recent  tale  was  remembered ;  his  magical  transitions 
and  mysterious  energy  of  voice.  Whether  he  were  in 
fernal  or  miraculous  or  human,  there  was  no  power  and 
no  need  to  decide.  Whether  the  contriver  or  not  of  this 
spell,  he  was  able  to  unbind  it,  and  to  check  the  fury  of 
my  brother.  He  had  ascribed  to  himself  intentions  not 
malignant.  Here  now  was  afforded  a  test  of  his  truth. 
Let  him  interpose,  as  from  above ;  revoke  the  savage 
decree  which  the  madness  of  Wieland  has  assigned  to 
heaven,  and  extinguish  forever  this  passion  for  blood ! 

My  mind  detected  at  a  glance  this  avenue  to  safety. 
The  recommendations  it  possessed  thronged  as  it  were 
together,  and  made  but  one  impression  on  my  intellect. 
Remoter  effects  and  collateral  dangers  I  saw  not.  Per 
haps  the  pause  of  an  instant  had  sufficed  to  call  them 
up.  The  improbability  that  the  influence  which  go 
verned  Wieland  was  external  or  human;  the  tendency 
of  this  stratagem  to  sanction  so  fatal  an  error  or  substi 
tute  a  more  destructive  rage  in  place  of  this  ;  the  insuffi 
ciency  of  Carwin's  mere  muscular  forces  to  counteract 
the  efforts  and  restrain  the  fury  of  Wieland,  might,  at  a 
second  glance,  have  been  discovered;  but  no  second 
glance  was  allowed.  My  first  thought  hurried  me  to 
action,  and,  fixing  my  eyes  upon  Carwin,  I  exclaimed, — 

"  0  wretch  !  once  more  hast  thou  come?  Let  it  be  to 
abjure  thy  malice ;  to  counterwork  this  hellish  strata 
gem  ;  to  turn  from  me  and  from  my  brother  this  deso 
lating  rage  ! 

"Testify  thy  innocence  or  thy  remorse;  exert  the 
powers  which  pertain  to  thee,  whatever  they  be,  to  turn 
aside  this  ruin.  Thou  art  the  author  of  these  horrors  ! 
What  have  I  done  to  deserve  thus  to  die  ?  How  have  I 
merited  this  unrelenting  persecution  ?  I  adjure  thee,  by 
that  God  whose  voice  thou  hast  dared  to  counterfeit,  to 
save  my  life ! 

"  Wilt  thou  then  go  ? — leave  me !    Succourless  !" 

Carwin  listened  to  my  entreaties  unmoved,  and  turned 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  247 

from  me.  He  seemed  to  hesitate  a  moment, — then 
glided  through  the  door.  Rage  and  despair  stifled  my 
utterance.  The  interval  of  respite  was  past ;  the  pangs 
reserved  for  me  by  Wieland  were  not  to  be  endured ;  my 
thoughts  rushed  again  into  anarchy.  Having  received 
the  knife  from  his  hand,  I  held  it  loosely  and  without 
regard;  but  now  it  seized  again  my  attention,  and  I 
grasped  it  with  force. 

He  seemed  to  notice  not  the  entrance  or  exit  of  Car- 
win.  My  gesture  and  the  murderous  weapon  appeared 
to  have  escaped  his  notice.  His  silence  was  unbroken ; 
his  eye,  fixed  upon  the  clock  for  a  time,  was  now  with 
drawn  ;  fury  kindled  in  every  feature ;  all  that  was 
human  in  his  face  gave  way  to  an  expression  supernatural 
and  tremendous.  I  felt  my  left  arm  within  his  grasp. 

Even  now  I  hesitated  to  strike.  I  shrunk  from  his 
assault,  but  in  vain. 

Here  let  me  desist.  Why  should  I  rescue  this  event 
from  oblivion  ?  Why  should  I  paint  this  detestable  con 
flict  ?  Why  not  terminate  at  once  this  series  of  horrors  ? 
— Hurry  to  the  verge  of  the  precipice,  and  cast  myself 
forever  beyond  remembrance  and  beyond  hope  ? 

Still  I  live ;  with  this  load  upon  my  breast ;  with  this 
phantom  to  pursue  my  steps ;  with  adders  lodged  in  my 
bosom,  and  stinging  me  to  madness ;  still  I  consent  to  live ! 

Yes !  I  will  rise  above  the  sphere  of  mortal  passions : 
I  will  spurn  at  the  cowardly  remorse  that  bids  me  seek 
impunity  in  silence,  or  comfort  in  forgetfulness.  My 
nerves  shall  be  new-strung  to  the  task.  Have  I  not  re 
solved  ?  I  will  die.  The  gulf  before  me  is  inevitable 
and  near.  I  will  die,  but  then  only  when  my  tale  is  at 
an  end. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

MY  right  hand,  grasping  the  unseen  knife,  was  still 
disengaged.  It  was  lifted  to  strike.  All  my  strength 
was  exhausted  but  what  was  sufficient  to  the  performance 
of  this  deed.  Already  was  the  energy  awakened  and 
the  impulse  given  that  should  bear  the  fatal  steel  to  his 

heart,  when Wieland  shrunk  back  ;  his  hand  was 

withdrawn.  Breathless  with  affright  and  desperation,  I 
stood,  freed  from  his  grasp ;  unassailed ;  untouched. 

Thus  long  had  the  power  which  controlled  the  scene 
forborne  to  interfere :  but  now  his  might  was  irresistible ; 
and  Wieland  in  a  moment  was  disarmed  of  all  his  pur 
poses.  A  voice,  louder  than  human  organs  could  pro 
duce,  shriller  than  language  can  depict,  burst  from  the 
ceiling  and  commanded  him — to  hold! 

Trouble  and  dismay  succeeded  to  the  steadfastness 
that  had  lately  been  displayed  in  the  looks  of  Wieland. 
His  eyes  roved  from  one  quarter  to  another,  with  an  ex 
pression  of  doubt.  He  seemed  to  wait  for  a  further 
intimation. 

Carwin's  agency  was  here  easily  recognised.  I  had 
besought  him  to  interpose  in  my  defence.  He  had 
flown.  I  had  imagined  him  deaf  to  my  prayer,  and 
resolute  to  see  me  perish ;  yet  he  disappeared  merely  to 
devise  and  execute  the  means  of  my  relief. 

Why  did  he  not  forbear  when  this  end  was  accom 
plished?  Why  did  his  misjudging  zeal  and  accursed 
precipitation  overpass  that  limit?  Or  meant  he  thus  to 
crown  the  scene,  and  conduct  his  inscrutable  plots  to 
this  consummation? 

Such  ideas  were  the  fruit  of  subsequent  contemplation. 
This  moment  was  pregnant  with  fate.  I  had  no  power 
248 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  249 

to  reason.  In  the  career  of  my  tempestuous  thoughts, 
rent  into  pieces  as  my  mind  was  by  accumulating  horrors, 
Car-win  was  unseen  and  unsuspected.  I  partook  of 
Wieland's  credulity,  shook  with  his  amazement,  and 
panted  with  his  awe. 

Silence  took  place  for  a  moment :  so  much  as  allowed 
the  attention  to  .recover  its  post.  Then  new  sounds 
were  uttered  from  above : — 

"  Man  of  errors !  cease  to  cherish  thy  delusion ;  not 
heaven  or  hell,  but  thy  senses,  have  misled  thee  to  com 
mit  these  acts.  Shake  off  thy  frenzy,  and  ascend  into 
rational  and  human.  Be  lunatic  no  longer." 

My  brother  opened  his  lips  to  speak.  His  tone  was 
terrific  and  faint.  He  muttered  an  appeal  to  heaven. 
It  was  difficult  to  comprehend  the  theme  of  his  inquiries. 
They  implied  doubt  as  to  the  nature  of  the  impulse  that 
hitherto  had  guided  him,  and  questioned  whether  he  had 
acted  in  consequence  of  insane  perceptions. 

To  these  interrogatories  the  voice,  which  now  seemed 
to  hover  at  his  shoulder,  loudly  answered  in  the  affirma 
tive.  Then  uninterrupted  silence  ensued. 

Fallen  from  his  lofty  and  heroic  station ;  now  finally 
restored  to  the  perception  of  truth ;  weighed  to  earth  by 
the  recollection  of  his  own  deeds ;  consoled  no  longer  by 
a  consciousness  of  rectitude  for  the  loss  of  offspring  and 
wife, — a  loss  for  which  he  was  indebted  to  his  own  mis 
guided  hand, — Wieland  was  transformed  at  once  into  the 
man  of  sorrows  ! 

He  reflected  not  that  credit  should  be  as  reasonably 
denied  to  the  last  as  to  any  former  intimation ;  that  one 
might  as  justly  be  ascribed  to  erring  or  diseased  senses 
as  the  other.  He  saw  not  that  this  discovery  in  no  de 
gree  affected  the  integrity  of  his  conduct;  that  his 
motives  had  lost  none  of  their  claims  to  the  homage  of 
mankind;  that  the  preference  of  supreme  good,  and  the 
boundless  energy  of  duty,  were  undiuiinished  in  his 
bosom. 

It  is  not  for  me  to  pursue  him  through  the  ghastly 
changes  of  his  countenance.  Words  he  had  none.  Now 
he  sat  upon  the  floor,  motionless  in  all  his  limbs,  with  his 
eyes  glazed  and  fixed,  a  monument  of  woe. 


25O  WIELAND;    OR, 

Anon  a  spirit  of  tempestuous  but  undesigning  activity 
seized  him.  He  rose  from  his  place  and  strode  across 
the  floor,  tottering  and  at  random.  His  eyes  were  with 
out  moisture,  and  gleamed  with  thejire  that  consumed 
his  vitals.  The  muscles  of  his  face  were  agitated  by 
convulsions.  His  lips  moved,  but  no  sound  escaped 
him. 

That  nature  should  long  sustain  this  conflict  was  not 
to  be  believed.  My  state  was  little  different  from  that 
of  my  brother.  I  entered,  as  it  were,  into  his  thoughts. 
My  heart  was  visited  and  rent  by  his  pangs.  "  Oh  that 
thy  frenzy  had  never  been  cured !  that  thy  madness, 
with  its  blissful  visions,  would  return !  or,  if  that  must 
not  be,  that  thy  scene  would  hasten  to  a  close ! — that 
death  would  cover  thee  with  his  oblivion ! 

"What  can  I  wish  for  thee?  Thou  who  hast  vied 
with  the  great  Preacher  of  thy  faith  in  sanctity  of  motives, 
arid  in  elevation  above  sensual  and  selfish !  Thou  whom 
thy  fate  has  changed  into  parricide  and  savage !  Can  I 
wish  for  the  continuance  of  thy  being?  No." 

For  a  time  his  movements  seemed  destitute  of  purpose. 
If  he  walked ;  if  he  turned ;  if  his  fingers  were  entwined 
with  each  other ;  if  his  hands  were  pressed  against  oppo 
site  sides  of  his  head  with  a  force  sufficient  to  crush  it 
into  pieces ;  it  was  to  tear  his  mind  from  self-contempla 
tion  ;  to  waste  his  thoughts  on  external  objects. 

Speedily  this  train  was  broken.  A  beam  appeared  to 
be  darted  into  his  mind  which  gave  a  purpose  to  his 
efforts.  An  avenue  to  escape  presented  itself;  and  now 
he  eagerly  gazed  about  him.  When  my  thoughts  became 
engaged  by  his  demeanour,  my  fingers  were  stretched  as 
by  a  mechanical  force,  and  the  knife,  no  longer  heeded 
or  of  use,  escaped  from  my  grasp  and  fell  unperceived 
on  the  floor.  His  eye  now  lighted  upon  it;  he  seized  it 
with  the  quickness  of  thought. 

I  shrieked  aloud,  but  it  was  too  late.  He  plunged  it 
to  the  hilt  in  his  neck;  and  his  life  instantly  escaped 
•with  the  stream  that  gushed  from  the  wound.  He  was 
stretched  at  my  feet;  and  my  hands  were  sprinkled  with 
his  blood  as  he  fell. 

Such  was  thy  last  deed,  my  brother !     For  a  spectacle 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  251 

like  this  was  it  my  fate  to  be  reserved !  Thy  eyes  were 
closed — thy  face  ghastly  with  death — thy  arms,  and  the 
spot  where  thou  lyedst,  floated  in  thy  life's  blood !  These 
images  have  not  for  a  moment  forsaken  me.  Till  I  am 
breathless  and  cold,  they  must  continue  to  hover  in  my 
sight. 

Carwin,  as  I  said,  had  left  the  room;  but  he  still 
lingered  in  the  house.  My  voice  summoned  him  to  my 
aid;  but  I  scarcely  noticed  his  re-entrance,  and  now 
faintly  recollect  his  terrified  looks,  his  broken  exclama 
tions,  his  vehement  avowals  of  innocence,  the  effusions 
of  his  pity  for  me,  and  his  offers  of  assistance. 

I  did  not  listen — I  answered  him  not — I  ceased  to 
upbraid  or  accuse.  His  guilt  was  a  point  to  which  I  was 
indifferent.  Ruffian  or  devil,  black  as  hell  or  bright  as 
angels,  thenceforth  he  was  nothing  to  me.  I  was  in 
capable  of  sparing  a  look  or  a  thought  from  the  ruin  that 
was  spread  at  my  feet. 

When  he  left  me,  I  was  scarcely  conscious  of  any 
variation  in  the  scene.  He  informed  the  inhabitants  of 
the  hut  of  what  had  passed,  and  they  flew  to  the  spot. 
Careless  of  his  own  safety,  he  hasted  to  the  city  to  in 
form  my  friends  of  my  condition. 

My  uncle  speedily  arrived  at  the  house.  The  body  of 
Wieland  was  removed  from  my  presence,  and  they  sup 
posed  that  I  would  follow  it ;  but  no,  my  home  is  ascer 
tained;  here  I  have  taken  up  my  rest,  and  never  will  I 
go  hence,  till,  like  Wieland,  I  am  borne  to  my  grave. 

Importunity  was  tried  in  vain.  They  threatened  to 
remove  me  by  violence, — nay,  violence  wras  used;  but 
my  soul  prizes  too  dearly  this  little  roof  to  endure  to  be 
bereaved  of  it.  Force  should  not  prevail  when  the 
hoary  locks  and  supplicating  tears  of  my  uncle  wrere 
ineffectual.  My  repugnance  to  move  gave  birth  to  fero 
ciousness  and  frenzy  when  force  was  employed,  and  they 
were  obliged  to  consent  to  my  return. 

They  besought  me — they  remonstrated — they  appealed 
to  every  duty  that  connected  me  with  Him  that  made  me 
and  with  my  fellow-men — in  vain.  While  I  live  I  will 
not  go  hence.  Have  I  not  fulfilled  my  destiny  ? 

Why  will  ye  torment  me  with  your  reasonings  and 


2$2  WIELAND. 

reproofs  ?  Can  ye  restore  to  me  the  hope  of  my  better 
days?  Can  ye  give  me  back  Catharine  and  her  babes? 
Can  ye  recall  to  life  him  who  died  at  my  feet? 

I  will  eat — I  will  drink — I  will  lie  down  and  rise  up — 
at  your  bidding ;  all  I  ask  is  the  choice  of  my  abode. 
What  is  there  unreasonable  in  this  demand?  Shortly 
will  I  be  at  peace.  This  is  the  spot  which  I  have  chosen 
in  which  to  breathe  my  last  sigh.  Deny  me  not,  I  be 
seech  you,  so  slight  a  boon. 

Talk  not  to  me,  0  my  reverend  friend !  of  Carwin. 
He  has  told  thee  his  tale,  and  thou  exculpatest  him  from 
all  direct  concern  in  the  fate  of  Wieland.  This  scene  of 
havoc  was  produced  by  an  illusion  of  the  senses.  Be  it 
so;  I  care  not  from  what  source  these  disasters  have 
flowed ;  it  suffices  that  they  have  swallowed  up  our  hopes 
and  our  existence. 

What  his  agency  began,  his  agency  conducted  to  a 
close.  He  intended,  by  the  final  effort  of  his  power,  to 
rescue  me  and  to  banish  his  illusions  from  my  brother. 
Such  is  his  tale,  concerning  the  truth  of  which  I  care 
not.  Henceforth  I  foster  but  one  wrish:  I  ask  only 
quick  deliverance  from  life  and  all  the  ills  that  attend  it. 

Go,  wretch !  torment  me  not  with  thy  presence  and 
thy  prayers. — Forgive  thee  ?  Will  that  avail  thee  when 
thy  fateful  hour  shall  arrive  ?  Be  thou  acquitted  at 
thy  own  tribunal,  and  thou  needest  not  fear  the  verdict 
of  others.  If  thy  guilt  be  capable  of  blacker  hues,  if 
hitherto  thy  conscience  be  without  stain,  thy  crime  will 
be  made  more  flagrant  by  thus  violating  my  retreat. 
Take  thyself  away  from  my  sight  if  thou  wouldst  not 
behold  my  death ! 

Thou  art  gone  !  murmuring  and  reluctant !  And  now 
my  repose  is  coming — my  work  is  done ! 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

[Written  three  years  after  the  foregoing,  and  dated  at  Montpellier.  J 

I  IMAGINED  that  I  had  forever  laid  aside  the  pen ; 
and  that  I  should  take  up  my  abode  in  this  part  of  the 
world  was  of  all  events  the  least  probable.  My  destiny 
I  believed  to  be  accomplished,  and  I  looked  forward  to 
a  speedy  termination  of  my  life  with  the  fullest  confi 
dence. 

Surely  I  had  reason  to  be  weary  of  existence,  to  be 
impatient  of  every  tie  which  held  me  from  the  grave. 
I  experienced  this  impatience  in  its  fullest  extent.  I 
was  not  only  enamoured  of  death,  but  conceived,  from 
the  condition  of  my  frame,  that  to  shun  it  was  impossi 
ble,  even  though  I  had  ardently  desired  it ;  yet  here  am  I, 
a  thousand  leagues  from  my  native  soil,  in  full  possession 
of  life  arid  of  health,  and  not  destitute  of  happiness. 

Such  is  man.  Time  will  obliterate  the  deepest  im 
pressions.  Grief  the  most  vehement  and  hopeless  will 
gradually  decay  and  wear  itself  out.  Arguments  may 
be  employed  in  vain ;  every  moral  prescription  may  be 
ineffectually  tried ;  remonstrances,  however  cogent  or 
pathetic,  shall  have  no  power  over  the  attention,  or  shall 
be  repelled  with  disdain ;  yet,  as  day  follows  day,  the 
turbulence  of  our  emotions  shall  subside,  and  our  fluc 
tuations  be  finally  succeeded  by  a  calm. 

Perhaps,  however,  the  conquest  of  despair  was  chiefly 
owing  to  an  accident  which  rendered  my  continuance  in 
my  own  house  impossible.  At  the  conclusion  of  mjjpng, 
and,  as  I  then  supposed,  my  last,  letter  to  you,  I  men 
tioned  my  resolution  to  wait  for  death  in  the  very  spot 
which  had  been  the  principal  scene  of  my  misfortunes. 

253 


254  WIELAND;    OR, 

From  this  resolution  my  friends  exerted  themselves  with 
the  utmost  zeal  and  perseverance  to  make  me  depart. 
They  justly  imagined  that  to  be  thus  surrounded  by  me 
morials  of  the  fate  of  my  family  would  tend  to  foster 
my  disease.  A  swift  succession  of  new  objects,  and  the 
exclusion  of  every  thing  calculated  to  remind  me  of  my 
loss,  was  the  only  method  of  cure. 

I  refused  to  listen  to  their  exhortations.  Great  as  my 
calamity  was,  to  be  torn  from  this  asylum  was  regarded 
by  me  as  an  aggravation  of  it.  By  a  perverse  consti 
tution  of  mind,  he  was  considered  as  my  greatest  enemy 
who  sought  to  withdraw  me  from  a  scene  which  supplied 
eternal  food  to  my  melancholy,  and  kept  my  despair 
from  languishing. 

In  relating  the  history  of  these  disasters  I  derived  a 
similar  species  of  gratification.  My  uncle  earnestly  dis 
suaded  me  from  this  task ;  but  his  remonstrances  were 
as  fruitless  on  this  head  as  they  had  been  on  others. 
They  would  have  withheld  from  me  the  implements  of 
writing ;  but  they  quickly  perceived  that  to  withstand 
would  be  more  injurious  than  to  comply  with  my  wishes. 
Having  finished  my  tale,  it  seemed  as  if  the  scene  were 
closing.  A  fever  lurked  in  my  veins,  and  my  strength 
was  gone.  Any  exertion,  however  slight,  was  attended 
with  difficulty,  and,  at  length,  I  refused  to  rise  from 
my  bed. 

I  now  see  the  infatuation  and  injustice  of  my  conduct 
in  its  true  colours.  I  reflect  upon  the  sensations  and 
reasonings  of  that  period  with  wonder  and  humiliation. 
That  I  should  be  insensible  to  the  claims  and  tears  of 
my  friends ;  that  I  should  overlook  the  suggestions  of 
duty,  and  fly  from  that  post  in  which  only  I  could  be 
instrumental  to  the  benefit  of  others ;  that  the  exercise 
of  the  social  and  beneficent  affections,  the  contemplation 
of  nature,  and  the  acquisition  of  wisdom,  should  not  be 
seen  to  be  means  of  happiness  still  within  my  reach,  is, 
at  this  time,  scarcely  credible. 

It  is  true  that  I  am  now  changed ;  but  I  have  not  the 
consolation  to  reflect  that  my  change  was  owing  to  my 
fortitude  or  to  my  capacity  for  instruction.  Better 
thoughts  grew  up  in  my  mind  imperceptibly.  I  cannot 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  2$$ 

but  congratulate  myself  on  the  change,  though,  perhaps, 
it  merely  argues  a  fickleness  of  temper  and  a  defect  of 
sensibility. 

After  my  narrative  was  ended,  I  betook  myself  to  my 
bed,  in  the  full  belief  that  my  career  in  this  world  was 
on  the  point  of  finishing.  My  uncle  took  up  his  abode 
with  me,  and  performed  for  me  every  office  of  nurse, 
physician,  and  friend.  One  night,  after  some  hours  of 
restlessness  and  pain,  I  sunk  into  deep  sleep.  Its  tran 
quillity,  however,  was  of  no  long  duration.  My  fancy 
became  suddenly  distempered,  and  my  brain  was  turned 
into  a  theatre  of  uproar  and  confusion.  It  would  not  be 
easy  to  describe  the  wild  and  fantastical  incongruities 
that  pestered  me.  My  uncle,  Wieland,  Pleyel,  and  Car- 
win  were  successively  and  momently  discerned  amidst 
the  storm.  Sometimes  I  was  swallowed  up  by  whirl 
pools,  or  caught  up  in  the  air  by  half-seen  and  gigantic 
forms,  and  thrown  upon  pointed  rocks  or  cast  among  the 
billows.  Sometimes  gleams  of  light  were  shot  into  a 
dark  abyss,  on  the  verge  of  which  I  was  standing,  and 
enabled  me  to  discover,  for  a  moment,  its  enormous  depth 
and  hideous  precipices.  Anon,  I  was  transported  to 
some  ridge  of  Etna,  and  made  a  terrified  spectator  of 
its  fiery  torrents  and  its  pillars  of  smoke. 

However  strange  it  may  seem,  I  was  conscious,  even 
during  my  dream,  of  my  real  situation.  I  knew  myself 
to  be  asleep,  and  struggled  to  break  the  spell  by  mus 
cular  exertions.  These  did  not  avail,  and  I  continued 
to  suffer  these  abortive  creations  till  a  loud  voice  at  my 
bedside,  and  some  one  shaking  me  with  violence,  put  an 
end  to  my  reverie.  My  eyes  were  unsealed,  and  I  started 
from  my  pillow. 

My  chamber  was  filled  with  smoke,  which,  though  in 
some  degree  luminous,  would  permit  me  to  see  nothing, 
and  by  which  I  was  nearly  suffocated.  The  crackling 
of  flames,  and  the  deafening  clamour  of  voices  without, 
burst  upon  my  ears.  Stunned  as  I  was  by  this  hubbub, 
scorched  with  heat,  and  nearly  choked  by  the  accumu 
lating  vapours,  I  was  unable  to  think  or  act  for  my  own 
preservation ;  I  was  incapable,  indeed,  of  comprehend 
ing  my  danger. 


2$6  WIELAND;    OR, 

I  was  caught  up,  in  an  instant,  by  a  pair  of  sinewy 
arms,  borne  to  the  window,  and  carried  down  a  ladder 
which  had  been  placed  there.  My  uncle  stood  at  the 
bottom  and  received  me.  I  was  not  fully  aware  of  my 
situation  till  I  found  myself  sheltered  in  the  hut  and 
surrounded  by  its  inhabitants. 

By  neglect  of  the  servant,  some  unextinguished  em 
bers  had  been  placed  in  a  barrel  in  the  cellar  of  the 
building.  The  barrel  had  caught  fire  ;  this  was  commu 
nicated  to  the  beams  of  the  lower  floor,  and  thence  to 
the  upper  part  of  the  structure.  It  was  first  discovered 
by  some  persons  at  a  distance,  who  hastened  to  the  spot 
and  alarmed  my  uncle  and  the  servants.  The  flames 
had  already  made  considerable  progress,  and  my  condi 
tion  was  overlooked  till  my  escape  was  rendered  nearly 
impossible. 

My  danger  being  known,  and  a  ladder  quickly  pro 
cured,  one  of  the  spectators  ascended  to  my  chamber, 
and  effected  my  deliverance  in  the  manner  before  re 
lated. 

This  incident,  disastrous  as  it  may  at  first  seem,  had, 
in  reality,  a  beneficial  effect  upon  my  feelings.  I  was, 
in  some  degree,  roused  from  the  stupor  which  had  seized 
my  faculties.  The  monotonous  and  gloomy  series  of 
my  thoughts  was  broken.  My  habitation  was  levelled 
with  the  ground,  and  I  was  obliged  to  seek  a  new  one. 
A  new  train  of  images,  disconnected  with  the  fate  of 
my  family,  forced  itself  on  my  attention ;  and  a  belief 
insensibly  sprung  up  that  tranquillity,  if  not  happi 
ness,  was  still  within  my  reach.  Notwithstanding  the 
shocks  which  my  frame  had  endured,  the  anguish  of 
my  thoughts  no  sooner  abated  than  I  recovered  my 
health. 

I  now  willingly  listened  to  my  uncle's  solicitations  to 
be  the  companion  of  his  voyage.  Preparations  were 
easily  made,  and,  after  a  tedious  passage,  we  set  our  feet 
on  the  shore  of  the  ancient  world.  The  memory  of  the 
past  did  not  forsake  me ;  but  the  melancholy  which  it 
generated,  and  the  tears  with  which  it  filled  my  eyes, 
were  not  unprofitable.  My  curiosity  was  revived,  and  I 


THE    TRANSFORMATION. 

contemplated  with  ardour  the  spectacle  of  living  man 
ners  and  the  monuments  of  past  ages. 

In  proportion  as  my  heart  was  reinstated  in  the  pos 
session  of  its  ancient  tranquillity,  the  sentiment  which  I 
had  cherished  with  regard  to  Plcyel  returned.  In  a 
short  time  he  was  united  to  the  Saxon  woman,  and 
made  his  residence  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Boston.  I 
was  glad  that  circumstances  would  not  permit  an  inter 
view  to  take  place  between  us.  I  could  not  desire  their 
misery;  but  I  reaped  no  pleasure  from  reflecting  on 
their  happiness.  Time,  and  the  exertions  of  my  forti 
tude,  cured  me,  in  some  degree,  of  this  folly.  I  con 
tinued  to  love  him,  but  my  passion  was  disguised  to 
myself;  I  considered  it  merely  as  a  more  tender  species 
of  friendship,  and  cherished  it  without  compunction. 

Through  my  uncle's  exertions,  a  meeting  was  brought 
about  between  Carwin  and  Pleyel,  and  explanations 
took  place  which  restored  me  at  once  to  the  good  opi 
nion  of  the  latter.  Though  separated  so  widely,  our 
correspondence  was  punctual  and  frequent,  and  paved 
the  way  for  that  union  which  can  only  end  with  the 
death  of  one  of  us. 

In  my  letters  to  him  I  made  no  secret  of  my  former 
sentiments.  This  was  a  theme  on  which  I  could  talk 
without  painful  though  not  without  delicate  emotions. 
That  knowledge  which  I  should  never  have  imparted 
to  a  lover,  I  felt  little  scruple  to  communicate  to  a 
friend. 

A  year  and  a  half  elapsed  when  Theresa  was  snatched 
from  him  by  death,  in  the  hour  in  which  she  gave  him 
the  first  pledge  of  their  mutual  affection.  This  event 
was  borne  by  him  with  his  customary  fortitude.  It  in 
duced  him,  however,  to  make  a  change  in  his  plans. 
He  disposed  of  his  property  in  America,  and  joined  my 
uncle  arid  me,  who  had  terminated  the  wanderings  of 
two  years  at  Montpellier,  which  will  henceforth,  I  be 
lieve,  be  our  permanent  abode. 

If  you  reflect  upon  that  entire  confidence  which  had 

subsisted  from  our  infancy  between  Pleyel  and  myself, 

on  the  passion  that  I  had  contracted,  and  which  was 

merely  smothered  for  a  time,  and  on  the  esteem  which 

17 


258  WIELAND;    OR, 

was  mutual,  you  will  not,  perhaps,  be  surprised  that  the 
renovation  of  our  intercourse  should  give  birth  to  that 
union  which  at  present  subsists.  When  the  period  had 
elapsed  necessary  to  weaken  the  remembrance  of  The 
resa,  to  whom  he  had  been  bound  by  ties  more  of  honour 
than  of  love,  he  tendered  his  affections  to  me.  I  need 
not  add  that  the  tender  was  eagerly  accepted. 

Perhaps  you  are  somewhat  interested  in  the  fate  of 
Carwin.  He  saw,  when  too  late,  the  danger  of  impos 
ture.  So  much  affected  was  he  by  the  catastrophe  to 
which  he  was  a  witness,  that  he  laid  aside  all  regard  to 
his  own  safety.  He  sought  my  uncle,  and  confided  to 
him  the  tale  which  he  had  just  related  to  me.  He 
found  a  more  impartial  and  indulgent  auditor  in  Mr. 
Cambridge,  who  imputed  to  maniacal  illusion  the  con 
duct  of  Wieland,  though  he  conceived  the  previous  and 
unseen  agency  of  Carwin  to  have  indirectly  but  power 
fully  predisposed  to  this  deplorable  perversion  of  mind. 

It  was  easy  for  Carwin  to  elude  the  persecutions  of 
Ludloe.  It  was  merely  requisite  to  hide  himself  in  a 
remote  district  of  Pennsylvania.  This,  when  he  parted 
from  us,  he  determined  to  do.  He  is  now  probably  en 
gaged  in  the  harmless  pursuits  of  agriculture,  and  may 
come  to  think,  without  insupportable  remorse,  on  the 
evils  to  which  his  fatal  talents  have  given  birth.  The 
innocence  and  usefulness  of  his  future  life  may,  in  some 
degree,  atone  for  the  miseries  so  rashly  or  so  thought 
lessly  inflicted. 

More  urgent  considerations  hindered  me  from  men 
tioning,  in  the  course  of  my  former  mournful  recital, 
any  particulars  respecting  the  unfortunate  father  of 
Louisa  Conway.  That  man  surely  was  reserved  to  be  a 
monument  of  capricious  fortune.  His  southern  journeys 
being  finished,  he  returned  to  Philadelphia.  Before  he 
reached  the  city  he  left  the  highway,  and  alighted  at 
my  brother's  door.  Contrary  to  his  expectation,  no  one 
came  forth  to  welcome  him  or  hail  his  approach.  He 
attempted  to  enter  the  house ;  but  bolted  doors,  barred 
windows,  and  a  silence  broken  only  by  unanswered  calls, 
showed  him  that  the  mansion  was  deserted. 

He   proceeded   thence   to   my  habitation,   which   he 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  2$$ 

found,  in  like  manner,  gloomy  and  tenantless.  His 
surprise  may  be  easily  conceived.  The  rustics  who  oc 
cupied  the  hut  told  him  an  imperfect  and  incredible  tale. 
He  hasted  to  the  city,  and  extorted  from  Mrs.  Baynton 
a  full  disclosure  of  late  disasters. 

He  was  inured  to  adversity,  and  recovered,  after  no 
long  time,  from  the  shocks  produced  by  the  disappoint 
ment  of  his  darling  scheme.  Our  intercourse  did  not 
terminate  with  his  departure  from  America.  We  have 
since  met  with  him  in  France,  and  light  has  at  length 
been  thrown  upon  the  motives  which  occasioned  the  dis 
appearance  of  his  wife  in  the  manner  which  I  formerly 
related  to  you. 

I  have  dwelt  upon  the  ardour  of  their  conjugal  attach 
ment,  and  mentioned  that  no  suspicion  had  ever  glanced 
upon  her  purity.  This,  though  the  belief  was  long 
cherished,  recent  discoveries  have  shown  to  be  question 
able.  No  doubt  her  integrity  would  have  survived  to 
the  present  moment  if  an  extraordinary  fate  had  not 
befallen  her. 

Major  Stuart  had  been  engaged,  while  in  Germany, 
in  a  contest  of  honour  with  an  aide-de-camp  of  the  Mar 
quis  of  Granby.  His  adversary  had  propagated  a  ru 
mour  injurious  to  his  character.  A  challenge  was  sent ; 
a  meeting  ensued ;  and  Stuart  wounded  and  disarmed 
the  calumniator.  The  offence  was  atoned  for,  and  his 
life  secured  by  suitable  concessions. 

Maxwell  (that  was  his  name)  shortly  after,  in  conse 
quence  of  succeeding  to  a  rich  inheritance,  sold  his 
commission  and  returned  to  London.  His  fortune  was 
speedily  augmented  by  an  opulent  marriage.  Interest 
was  his  sole  inducement  to  this  marriage,  though  the 
lady  had  been  swayed  by  a  credulous  affection.  The 
true  state  of  his  heart  was-  quickly  discovered,  and  a 
separation,  by  mutual  consent,  took  place.  The  lady 
withdrew  to  an  estate  in  a  distant  county,  and  Maxwell 
continued  to  consume  his  time  and  fortune  in  the  dissi 
pation  of  the  capital. 

Maxwell,  though  deceitful  and  sensual,  possessed 
great  force  of  mind  and  specious  accomplishments.  He 
contrived  to  mislead  the  generous  mind  of  Stuart,  and 


26O  WIELAND;    OR, 

to  regain  the  esteem  winch  his  misconduct  for  a  time 
had  forfeited.  He  was  recommended  by  her  husband  to 
the  confidence  of  Mrs.  Stuart.  Maxwell  was  stimulated 
by  revenge,  and  by  a  lawless  passion,  to  convert  this 
confidence  into  a  source  of  guilt. 

The  education  and  capacity  of  this  woman,  the  worth 
of  her  husband,  the  pledge  of  their  alliance  which  time 
had  produced,  her  maturity  in  age  and  knowledge  of  the 
world, — all  combined  to  render  this  attempt  hopeless. 
Maxwell,  however,  was  not  easily  discouraged.  The 
most  perfect  being,  he  believed,  must  owe  his  exemption 
from  vice  to  the  absence  of  temptation.  The  impulses 
of  love  are  so  subtle,  and  the  influence  of  false  reason 
ing,  when  enforced  by  eloquence  and  passion,  so  un 
bounded,  that  no  human  virtue  is  secure  from  degene 
racy.  All  arts  being  tried,  every  temptation  being 
summoned  to  his  aid,  dissimulation  being  carried  to  its 
utmost  bound,  Maxwell,  at  length,  nearly  accomplished 
his  purpose.  The  lady's  affections  were  withdrawn 
from  her  husband  and  transferred  to  him.  She  could 
not,  as  yet,  be  reconciled  to  dishonour.  All  efforts  to 
induce  her  to  elope  with  him  were  ineffectual.  She  per 
mitted  herself  to  love,  and  to  avow  her  love ;  but  at  this 
limit  she  stopped,  and  was  immovable. 

Hence  this  revolution  in  her  sentiments  was  produc 
tive  only  of  despair.  Her  rectitude  of  principle  pre 
served  her  from  actual  guilt,  but  could  not  restore  to  her 
her  ancient  affection,  or  save  her  from  being  the  prey 
of  remorseful  and  impracticable  wishes.  Her  husband's 
absence  produced  a  state  of  suspense.  This,  however, 
approached  to  a  period,  and  she  received  tidings  of  his 
intended  return.  Maxwell,  being  likewise  apprized  of 
this  event,  and  having  made  a  last  and  unsuccessful 
effort  to  conquer  her  reluctance  to  accompany  him  in  a 
journey  to  Italy,  whither  he  pretended  an  invincible 
necessity  of  going,  left  her  to  pursue  the  measures  which 
despair  might  suggest.  At  the  same  time  she  received 
a  letter  from  the  wife  of  Maxwell,  unveiling  the  true 
character  of  this  man,  and  revealing  facts  which  the 
artifices  of  her  seducer  had  hitherto  concealed  from  her. 
Mrs.  Maxwell  had  been  prompted  to  this  disclosure  by  a 


THE   TRANSFORMATION.  261 

knowledge  of  her  husband's  practices,  with  which  his 
own  impetuosity  had  made  her  acquainted. 

This  discovery,  joined  to  the  delicacy  of  her  scruples 
and  the  anguish  of  remorse,  induced  her  to  abscond. 
This  scheme  was  adopted  in  haste,  but  effected  with 
consummate  prudence.  She  fled,  on  the  eve  of  her  hus 
band's  arrival,  in  the  disguise  of  a  boy,  and  embarked 
at  Falmouth  in  a  packet  bound  for  America. 

The  history  of  her  disastrous  intercourse  with  Max 
well,  the  motives  inducing  her  to  forsake  her  country, 
and  the  measures  she  had  taken  to  effect  her  design, 
were  related  to  Mrs.  Maxwell,  in  reply  to  her  communi 
cation.  Between  these  women  an  ancient  intimacy  and 
considerable  similitude  of  character  subsisted.  This 
disclosure  was  accompanied  with  solemn  injunctions  of 
secrecy,  and  these  injunctions  were,  for  a  long  time, 
faithfully  observed. 

Mrs.  Maxwell's  abode  was  situated  on  the  banks  of 
the  Wey.  Stuart  was  her  kinsman ;  their  youth  had 
been  spent  together ;  and  Maxwell  was  in  some  degree 
indebted  to  the  man  whom  he  betrayed  for  his  alliance 
with  this  unfortunate  lady.  Her  esteem  for  the  character 
of  Stuart  had  never  been  diminished.  A  meeting  be 
tween  them  was  occasioned  by  a  tour  which  the  latter 
had  undertaken,  in  the  year  after  his  return  from  Ame 
rica,  to  Wales  and  the  western  counties.  This  interview 
produced  pleasure  and  regret  in  each.  Their  own  trans 
actions  naturally  became  the  topics  of  their  conversation ; 
and  the  untimely  fate  of  his  wife  and  daughter  were 
related  by  the  guest. 

Mrs.  Maxwell's  regard  for  her  friend,  as  well  as  for 
the  safety  of  her  husband,  persuaded  her  to  conceal 
ment  ;  but,  the  former  being  dead  and  the  latter  being 
out  of  the  kingdom,  she  ventured  to  produce  Mrs.  Stu 
art's  letter,  and  to  communicate  her  own  knowledge  of 
the  treachery  of  Maxwell.  She  had  previously  extorted 
from  her  guest  a  promise  not  to  pursue  any  scheme  of 
vengeance ;  but  this  promise  was  made  while  ignorant 
of  the  full  extent  of  Maxwell's  depravity,  and  his  pas 
sion  refused  to  adhere  to  it. 

At  this  time  my  uncle  and  I  resided  at  Avignon. 


262  WIELAND;    OR, 

Among  the  English  resident  there,  and  with  whom  we 
maintained  a  social  intercourse,  was  Maxwell.  This 
man's  talents  and  address  rendered  him  a  favourite  both 
with  my  uncle  and  myself.  He  had  even  tendered  me 
his  hand  in  marriage ;  but,  this  being  refused,  he  had 
sought  and  obtained  permission  to  continue  with  us  the 
intercourse  of  friendship.  Since  a  legal  marriage  was 
impossible,  no  doubt  his  views  were  flagitious. .  Whether 
he  had  relinquished  these  views  I  was  unable  to  judge. 

He  was  one  in  a  large  circle  at  a  villa  in  the  environs, 
to  which  I  had  likewise  been  invited,  when  Stuart  ab 
ruptly  entered  the  apartment.  He  was  recognised  with 
genuine  satisfaction  by  me,  and  with  seeming  pleasure 
by  Maxwell.  In  a  short  time,  some  affair  of  moment 
being  pleaded,  which  required  an  immediate  and  exclu 
sive  interview,  Maxwell  and  he  withdrew  together. 
Stuart  and  my  uncle  had  been  known  to  each  other  in 
the  German  army ;  and  the  purpose  contemplated  by  the 
former  in  this  long  and  hasty  journey  was  confided  to  his 
old  friend. 

A  defiance  was  given  and  received,  and  the  banks  of 
a  rivulet,  about  a  league  from  the  city,  was  selected  as 
the  scene  of  this  contest.  My  uncle,  having  exerted 
himself  in  vain  to  prevent  a  hostile  meeting,  consented 
to  attend  them  as  a  surgeon.  Next  morning,  at  sunrise, 
was  the  time  chosen. 

I  returned  early  in  the  evening  to  my  lodgings.  Pre 
liminaries  being  settled  between  the  combatants,  Stuart 
had  consented  to  spend  the  evening  with  us,  and  did  not 
retire  till  late.  On  the  way  to  his  hotel  he  was  exposed 
to  no  molestation;  but  just  as  he  stepped  within  the 
portico,  a  swarthy  and  malignant  figure  started  from 
behind  a  column  and  plunged  a  stiletto  into  his  body. 

The  author  of  this  treason  could  not  certainly  be  dis 
covered;  but  the  details  communicated  by  Stuart  re 
specting  the  history  of  Maxwell  naturally  pointed  him 
out  as  an  object  of  suspicion.  No  one  expressed  more 
concern  on  account  of  this  disaster  than  he ;  and  he  pre 
tended  an  ardent  zeal  to  vindicate  his  character  from 
the  aspersions  that  were  cast  upon  it.  Thenceforth, 


THE    TRANSFORMATION.  263 

however,  I  denied  myself  to  his  visits;  and  shortly  after 
he  disappeared  from  this  scene. 

Few  possessed  more  estimable  qualities,  and  a  better 
title  to  happiness  and  the  tranquil  honours  of  long  life, 
than  the  mother  and  the  father  of  Louisa  Conway ;  yet 
they  were  cut  on'  in  the  bloom  of  their  days,  and  their 
destiny  was  thus  accomplished  by  the  same  hand.  Max 
well  was  the  instrument  of  their  destruction,  though  the 
instrument  was  applied  to  this  end  in  so  different  a 
manner. 

I  leave  you  to  moralize  on  this  tale.  That  virtue 
should  become  the  victim  of  treachery  is,  no  doubt,  a 
mournful  consideration;  but  it  will  not  escape  }^our 
notice,  that  the  evils  of  which  Carwin  and  Maxwell 
were  the  authors  owed  their  existence  to  the  errors  of 
the  sufferers.  All  efforts  would  have  been  ineffectual  to 
subvert  the  happiness  or  shorten  the  existence  of  the 
Stuarts,  if  their  own  frailty  had  not  seconded  these 
efforts.  If  the  lady  had  crushed  her  disastrous  passion 
in  the  bud,  and  driven  the  seducer  from  her  presence 
when  the  tendency  of  his  artifices  was  seen;  if  Stuart 
had  not  admitted  the  spirit  of  absurd  revenge,  we  should 
not  have  had  to  deplore  this  catastrophe.  If  Wieland 
had  framed  juster  notions  of  moral  duty  and  of  the 
divine  attributes,  or  if  I  had  been  gifted  with  ordinary 
equanimity  or  foresight,  the  double-tongued  deceiver 
would  have  been  baffled  and  repelled. 


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